


Chaser

by Snowhite



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowhite/pseuds/Snowhite
Summary: When William Bodie, former SAS captain and now a highly respected crisis negotiator, is hired to negotiate the release of kidnapped champion steeplechase jockey, Raymond Doyle, he embarks on a path that will lead from an American mafia family to the very highest echelon of the British aristocracy. Along the way he uncovers a decades old scandal and finds himself pulled into Ray Doyle’s quest for revenge.





	Chaser

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=e7mlq8)

CHASER  
By Snow White

 

Chapter One

England, 1997

The air was cold and biting as I walked out of Terminal Two at Heathrow and headed for the car park. Hunching my shoulders against the blast of icy wind I marveled at the difference between February on our windswept little island and the milder climes of the Mediterranean. But even with the relative warmth and sunshine of Italy I was glad to be done with Milan, the Italian National Police, and the Gabone family. Even though the case had been satisfactorily resolved, the past seventy-two hours had been a roller coaster ride of anxiety, anger, fear and, finally, exaltation when the twenty-two-year old scion of the wealthy manufacturing family had been located exactly where the kidnappers had said he could be found in the rundown, deserted warehouse.  
I was more than happy to leave the remains of the case with the Italian police. Not for me to chase down endless clues and dead ends to try and discover the perpetrators of the latest high-profile continental kidnapping. I didn't care if the villains were captured or not, and I could care less about the ransom money. My only concern was the safe return of the victim; that was why I had flown to Milan three days before - to negotiate with the kidnappers, liaise with the police, and keep the family from doing anything stupid. Remembering the volatile and egomaniacal head of the Gabone family, I thought that the latter part of my responsibilities was often the hardest.  
I had just reached the car when the rain began to patter on the windscreen of the dark green Jaguar. Quickly slipping into the car I laid my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. I was incredibly tired. The previous three days had afforded little opportunity for sleep and the flight from Milan had been crowded with a group of tourists from Kenya. A part of my mind wondered how they would like the English weather, but I was too tired to give my fellow passengers more than a passing thought.  
Sighing, I sat up and was reaching for the ignition key when the car phone beeped. Knowing that only one person knew my schedule well enough to calculate that I would be at the car I briefly considered not answering, but I knew Barbara would not give up. Reluctantly I picked up the handset. "Bodie," I growled.  
"Congratulations on the Gabone kidnapping. It just made the news. Don't worry, you weren't mentioned. Apparently, Inspector Fabrizzio decided to claim all of the credit."  
"Good. He wasn't bad for an Italian policeman."  
On the other end of the phone, Barbara Moore, my secretary/personal assistant gave an elegant little snort. "Coming from you that is high praise."  
"Yeah, well, most of them are horses' arses. Well, if there's nothing else I'm heading home," I said hopefully.  
"Chance would be a fine thing. Your uncle wants to see you as soon as you can get to Foxly Grove."  
"Damn. Look, did you tell him what flight I would be on?"  
"I didn't have to, he already knew. You know him when he gets the bit between his teeth."  
"I take it the General is in high dudgeon. Did he happen to mention why he was issuing his command?"  
"No, just that it was important and that he would expect you for tea."  
"Oh well, I suppose I had better bugger off and see the old so and so," I said, although both Barbara and I knew that I would gladly drive down to the Sussex Downs even as tired as I was. My maternal uncle, Lieutenant General Sir Percy Marlow, KBE, VC, was a rare breed in this day and age, a general who was actually a superb fighting man and a respected leader in post-Cold War military circles - on both sides of the former Iron Curtain. Now in his late-seventies, he was still sharp and in total command of any situation in which he inserted himself.  
As I winded my way toward the south I grinned to myself as I remembered a recent doctor's declaration that had finally put an end to the General's fox hunting days. I wondered if my uncle was attacking the golf course with the same vigor and determination as he had the fields and fences. If he was, I felt great pity for the nation's golf courses. Maybe he would go on the Senior's Circuit in America. I chuckled and the libelous visions my imagination dredged up kept me smiling as I continued through the gloom of the afternoon.

 

It was just gone four o'clock when I nosed into the wide lane which led to Foxly Grove. I noted the other cars parked on the spacious turnaround and wondered briefly about the Rolls Royce. While it was by no means uncommon to see Rollers at my uncle's estate, it was not the norm to see one with what appeared to be a liveried chauffeur behind the wheel reading whatever it is chauffeurs read while they wait for their charges to return.  
The rain had long since petered out and I took time to stretch my, by now, very tired bones and look out toward the stable area. I could see a number of horses in the lower pasture and surmised that my uncle had decided not to get rid of his horses quite yet. Knowing the way the old man's mind worked, he was probably hoping that the doctor would die before he actually had to take the unconscionable action.  
The gravel crunched beneath my soles as I walked, hands in pockets, to the broad terrace at the rear of the large Georgian manor. I reasoned that since it was tea time my uncle would be entertaining in the library and that way I could avoid the front door. It's not that I really wanted to avoid Martha; it's just that my uncle's housekeeper always treats me like a seven-year-old. It is disconcerting to a thirty-three-year-old ex-SAS captain to have a five-foot elderly lady reach for a handkerchief to wipe a spot of dirt from my cheek or offer me a freshly baked biscuit. Well, at least the handkerchief was disconcerting; the biscuits were just delicious.  
As I suspected, the terrace door to the library was unlocked and I paused just inside the door to take in the gathering. My uncle was seated in a large leather club chair talking to an elegant woman of his own age who was seated on the divan. Next to her was a rather bland man in a suit that could only have come from Saville Row or Jermyn Street. The most interesting person in the room, however, was a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair.  
I knew the people slightly because of their friendship with my family, but it had been several years since I had seen the current Duke of Westmoreland, his mother, and sister.  
The quartet looked up as I walked toward them. I had forgotten the incredible eyes of the wheelchair-bound woman. They were pale gray and, even though she was obviously under tremendous tension, they had a life and fire that I had rarely seen. For the first time I realised that this woman was no cripple, no matter her physical state.  
"There you are, William. Come and greet my guests. I trust Martha saw you arrive. She has been baking biscuits since she heard you were coming."  
Damn. I know I blushed. Both the General and Martha think it amusing to keep me off balance.   
"Lady Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Westmoreland; John, the 14th Duke; and Lady Helen, I trust you remember my nephew, Captain William Bodie. He's Cecil and Rosemary's youngest son, you know."  
My uncle is the only person who continues to insist on calling me William. Even my parents have finally acceded to my preference for Bodie, a holdover from my boarding school days.  
I executed my most correct military bow and murmured appropriate phrases. I also looked at my uncle with raised eyebrow. Obviously, my uncle had wanted me here to meet the Westmorelands, for what reason I could not even begin to guess.  
"Really, Percy, do let that young man sit down. He looks absolutely exhausted," said the Dowager Duchess. "What do you take in your tea, Captain?"  
"Just lemon, Lady Margaret," I answered and watched as she deftly picked up the Minton teapot and poured. Silver tongs added a slice of lemon to the cup before it was passed to me. A selection of tea sandwiches and freshly baked pastries were placed on a small plate and handed to me as I settled into a club chair next to my uncle. I was impressed; a Duchess who poured tea for a common Captain. Curiouser and curiouser.  
As I sipped the fragrant Earl Grey blend, I noted her use of my uncle's given name. The last person to do that in my memory was the former Prime Minister, the Iron Lady herself. Of course, that was over ten years ago so I am sure at least one other person had called the General "Percy" in that time; but, then again, maybe not.  
As I waited for someone to explain why I had been summoned, I used the time to study Lady Helen. That she was under great stress was evident in the rigidity of her posture, the tightness around her mouth, and the jerkiness in her movement when she replaced her cup on the table. These could have been natural for her, but I remembered her as a woman of grace. I knew instinctively that the strain that was wearing on Lady Helen was the reason I was at Foxly Grove and suddenly I didn't want to prolong the tension any longer than was necessary.  
"So, Uncle, why was it so important that I join you for tea this afternoon?"  
Four sets of eyes turned toward me and interestingly, three sets of eyes turned, not to the General, but to the Duke.  
For the first time since I walked into the library, I studied the Duke. On the few occasions I had met him in the past, I had always rather discounted him as a rather bland man. But now, I saw, I was in error. This was not a bland man at all. He was merely self-assured and self-contained. I paid particular attention to the way in which he used reaching for his tea to marshal his thoughts. This was not a man who would be hurried into anything. He would not make snap decisions; but once a decision had been made, he would accept the consequences. I liked him, I thought, which was strange since I don't think we had ever had more than three or four short exchanges at various social gatherings in the past. In future days and weeks I would discover a lot more about the Westmoreland family - much to admire but some things to despise. For now, the head of the family held my attention.  
"Captain Bodie, there is little time to waste in pleasantries because there is no pleasant way to explain what has happened. As you may or may not know I own one of the finest hurdlers in the country. Orkney Isles has won almost every honour racing has to offer the past year. He is tipped to win the Gold Cup at the National Hunt Meeting at Cheltenham in three week’s time."  
At this point I felt it expedient to interrupt. "Forgive me, sir, but I am very familiar with both your role in this country's racing and also with the history of Orkney Isles. In my younger days I rode a few amateur point-to-point races and have retained my interest in the sport. What exactly is the problem? Has something happened to Orkney Isles?"  
"No, not to the horse, to the jockey," exclaimed the Duchess with an odd little grimace and a glance at her daughter.  
"Mother, please. Forgive my mother, Captain Bodie. She will not interrupt us again." The command was unmistakable and my respect for the Duke rose another notch. Anyone who could make that venerable dragon toe the line was not to be trifled with.  
"As I was about to say, Orkney Isles has only had one rider in his career. Indeed, he has only had one rider, ever. Raymond Doyle has ridden for my stables for over nine years as a jockey and was an exercise rider since he was sixteen, almost half his life. He is practically a member of the family, as well as valued friend and one of England's top steeplechase jockeys."  
Quite by accident I was looking at Lady Helen while the Duke was speaking and when he referred to Doyle as being a member of the family, an expression of deep sadness crossed her face then was gone again. As Alice said, this was getting curiouser by the minute.  
"Can you tell me, sir, what exactly has happened to Doyle?"  
"He has been kidnapped."  
Although I was expecting it, the calm statement of fact still affected me like a blow to the solar plexus. This time I was the one using tea as an escape. Thoughtfully I sipped my now cold tea and contemplated the nature of kidnapping as a crime. It seemed strangely out of step in this room which had all of the appearances of being one of the last bastions of the Empire. Even though I was an expert in negotiating with kidnappers I had never worked in England, except for the occasional terrorist group in my SAS days. I doubted if international terrorists would bother with a steeplechase jockey. But, apparently, I had been called here in my professional capacity and, like it or not, I was going to have to work with the local police. My stomach knotted and the long buried anger began to edge toward the surface. Ruthlessly I suppressed it and was quite calm when I put down my cup.  
"I am sorry, but it seems incredible. Kidnapping is not characteristically an English crime. Do you know when and where it happened? Has a ransom demand been received and, if so, by whom?"  
"That is very much the problem, Captain. We have no information other than a ransom note which was delivered to me at Bancroft Hall by regular post. At the time we thought it a joke because Raymond was spending a few days with friends in Devon. When the letter was received, I called the Walstons only to be told that the visit had been cancelled, supposedly by my secretary. That was late yesterday afternoon. Since that time, we have received a brief telephone call to verify that the letter was received. No demands were made other than we not communicate in any way with the authorities. We were told that if no suspicious activity was observed within the next forty-eight hours, we would be contacted with further information regarding the method of delivery of the payment and the recovery of Raymond."  
It was a clear and concise report delivered with the proper hint of concern of a peer of the realm for a valued employee. However, it was what was not said that had my early warning system at full alert. The Duke's reference to Doyle by his given name was overly familiar and again, I kept getting odd expressions whenever I looked at Lady Helen.  
"And what is the amount of the ransom?"  
"A quarter of a million pounds."  
I could not prevent my jaw from dropping. I had supposed it was somewhere in the area of twenty-five to fifty thousand pounds, but a quarter of a million was a patently ridiculous figure.  
Before I could comment on the stupidity of the kidnappers in assuming that the Duke would pay so much, he continued, "I have arranged for the delivery of the full amount, all in fifty pound notes. It should have arrived at Bancroft Hall by this time. It was coming by bonded messenger from my bank."  
I knew I had definitely gotten the wrong fairy tale. This was not Alice in Wonderland because we had moved far beyond curious and were rapidly approaching Never Never Land. I was Peter Pan going to battle the evil Captain Hook to save Tinkerbell.  
The amazement must have shown on my face because the Duke drew himself up and looked on the verge of making a disparaging comment when the General came to the rescue. "I think Lord Westmoreland has been quite clear in his summary. No doubt you need some time to consider the best course of action, my boy. Martha has readied your room and I know you would like to freshen up from your trip. We will meet in the drawing room at eight o'clock for drinks. We can discuss this further at that time."  
"But surely Captain Bodie has questions he needs to ask. We really must do something."  
"My nephew is an expert in these matters, Lady Helen, but understand he must review the facts. Given that the kidnappers have said they will not contact you again until tomorrow evening we can afford the time for in-depth analysis and planning. I can assure you that proper planning and accurate intelligence have won more engagements than any brute force frontal assault."  
"Well said, Percy. Come Helen, let Captain Bodie rest and think about our problem and in the interim I shall see if I can bribe Martha to part with the recipe for that superlative salmon mousse we had for lunch."  
We stood as my uncle ushered them from the room. “Martha has readied a couple of rooms for you to use to rest and refresh yourselves before dinner, Lady Margaret. If you need anything just ask her.”   
The Duke followed his mother and sister from the library saying he had some calls he needed to make. Having caught a warning sign from my uncle, I held back. Now maybe I would learn why I had been summoned.  
"Sit down, William," said the General as he motioned me back toward one of the two leather club chairs. He passed me the humidor of Cuban cigars and set a tray with a decanter of fifty-year-old cognac and two snifters on the small table between us. As he poured the fine old brandy my eyes roamed around the room I had always loved. With its rich dark paneling, glowing fireplace, leather furniture, and dark green drapes it was a comfortable place in which to escape the harsher realities of the Twentieth Century. The paintings on the walls reflected my uncle's love of racing and hunting and the many books that filled the floor-to-ceiling cases ran the gamut from military history to modern detective thrillers. This was a man's room into which women would be invited to visit, but never to share.  
"All right, would you like to tell me what is going on," I said as I settled back and lit the elegant cigar.  
"I thought the Duke was quite clear. What didn't you understand?"  
"God, I hate it when you are being deliberately obtuse. First, explain to me why the Duke of Westmoreland, one of the richest and most influential racing peers in this country, is willing to pay a cool quarter of a million pounds for a jockey without even a quibble, even one that has ridden for him for nine years?"  
My uncle studied his cigar for a long minute and then shrugged. "It isn't my story to tell. At some point I am sure the Duke or Lady Helen will be prepared to tell you if it becomes absolutely necessary. However, I can foresee no circumstances under which that would be a necessity. Rest assured, the Westmoreland family is very attached to young Doyle and are willing to pay whatever is necessary to secure his safe return."  
"Is he the Duke's son?"  
"A not uncalled-for question given the circumstances, but no, he is not the illegitimate son of the Duke of Westmoreland, nor is he blood kin to any of the Westmoreland family."  
Okay, so the General wasn't going to tell me the big, dark secret. At least I had eliminated one possible line of questions. There wasn't a family connection to get in the way of the negotiations. "Obviously, both you and the Duke expect me to work with the kidnappers when they call. Tell me, what are the police doing and who is in charge of the investigation?"  
"The Sussex constabulary have not been notified."  
Just in the process of taking a sip of brandy, I almost choked. Sputtering, I glared at my uncle. "It is a criminal offense not to notify the police. You certainly know that better than most. You should have insisted that Westmoreland call them in immediately, or you should have done it yourself."  
"I would have thought you would be the last person to demand police involvement in a kidnapping."  
The General's voice was soft but it cut through me like a bayonet ripping and tearing its way through skin and tissue, slicing deep into layers of memories I had tried, only partially successfully, to bury.  
"Was it really necessary, Uncle, to remind me about Geoffrey?" I asked coldly. "Is it your perverse notion of kindness to dredge up memories I have spent the last five years trying to forget? Do you think that reminding me of the egotistical Inspector Bradley and the way in which he screwed up the hostage negotiation at the Israeli Embassy will ensure my cooperation? I am not your pet SAS assault unit to trot out every time one of your old pals gets into a spot of bother." Standing I strode to the door, then turned back toward my uncle, "I won't be staying for dinner. I am certain you can express my regrets to the Westmoreland’s."  
"And what about Raymond Doyle?" my uncle asked in the same calm manner.  
That, of course, stopped me with my hand still on the knob. He had me and he knew it. I could never walk away from a hostage situation; I had promised Geoff.  
For long seconds I glared at my uncle, unwilling to let him see that he had won. Strategist that he was, he knew he had won the battle and was gracious in victory. Shrugging, I returned to stand by the leather chair and accepted a refill on my brandy.  
"Sit down, lad. I am sorry. It was unforgivable of me to bring the matter up and I do ask your forgiveness. However, I do not apologise for involving you. The 13th Duke was one of my oldest friends and the Dowager Duchess and I have been sparring partners for years. She is a remarkable woman, as is Lady Helen. They came to me for help and I, in turn, called upon the best man for the situation."  
Waving my uncle's blandishments aside, I took a long swallow and settled into the chair. "Well, since you don't intend to tell me anything until we meet the Duke and his family at eight o'clock, what's the latest news on the family front.  
The General settled back in his chair looking for all the world like a chess master who has just forced an opponent into a trap and was only waiting for the right moment to spring it shut. Did I feel like I was in a trap? Perhaps, but it was one I was walking into of my own volition. I listened dutifully to tales of brothers, nieces, and various cousins, but soon grew bored with the usual family stories about riding accidents and university accomplishments.  
Finishing my brandy I stood and stretched. "I think I will go upstairs and rest for a while. I had better stay over and not drive back to Wimbledon tonight. I'll see you at eight."  
"Feel free to stay down as long as you want. You might want to use this as a base of operations for a while. Don't forget to say hello to Martha," my uncle called after me.  
His comment reminded me that I hadn't had any lunch and the few small sandwiches I had nibbled with tea hadn't really appeased me. A short detour through the kitchen to appropriate a few biscuits and maybe a ham sandwich would not be a bad idea. It would also allow Martha to get her fussing out of the way.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=ta2fc9)

It had just gone eight o'clock when I walked into the drawing room. Lord Westmoreland was talking to his sister, and the General and the Duchess were discussing something that obviously amused them. I wondered how Lady Helen managed with her wheelchair and then decided that her brother could easily manage to carry her up and down stairs, perhaps with help from the absent chauffer. Like her mother, Lady Helen was petite, just about five feet and about eight stone if I was judging correctly. Whereas the Duchess had magnificent white hair worn high on her head, Lady Helen's hair was pale gold and pulled back into a chignon at her neck. Even though she was in her early fifties, no telltale signs of gray had begun to show; either that or she had a very skilled hairdresser. For his part, the Duke was about my height, six foot or close to it. He was heavier than my own thirteen stone, perhaps fifteen. Like his mother and sister his eyes were his most distinctive feature - a smoky gray that seemed able to look through you or deep into your soul, depending on the ducal mood. At the moment, they were somber and centred on his sister.  
The General noticed my arrival first. "Ah, William, there you are. Your usual?" Ever the perfect host, my uncle handed me a brandy and soda, even managing to refrain from his usual scathing comment about my fondness for ice. I know he feels that I am a barbarian. Fortunately, he blames my parents. It is an aberration they picked up when my father was Ambassador to the United States.  
"Please sit next to me, Captain, and tell me how, are your parents? I miss dear Rosemary. How are they coping with Hong Kong?" inquired the Duchess.  
Moving to join her on the large divan, I responded, "They are fine, Lady Margaret. As you know, Father has been overseeing the transfer of Hong Kong to Mainland China. Mother is enjoying her time in the Far East and when I last heard from her, she was well on her way to mastering both the Cantonese and Mandarin dialects."  
"So like Rosemary. A remarkable woman, your mother. She's a perfect match for your father." This last was said with a slight inflection that made me look more closely at her. I know how brilliant and talented my mother is, but when most people talk about my parents, it is about my father and his numerous accomplishments and achievements. The Duchess was an astute observer of people; she would bear watching in the future.  
Both the Duchess and I looked up as the wheelchair rolled up to us.  
"Mother, I really do think we have engaged in sufficient polite small talk; we must discuss Raymond and what should be done."  
Sighing, the Duchess looked at her daughter and then gave in to the younger woman's obvious anxiety. "You are correct, my dear. Captain Bodie, I am certain you have many questions and much advice. John, would you and Percy please join us?"  
I had considered the situation while I lay on my bed upstairs, munching biscuits and reviewing what I knew about the Westmoreland stables and one Raymond Doyle. It wasn't a lot because, unlike my uncle, I followed racing in a very haphazard manner. The General was a Steward and one of the ten or twenty most influential people in the sport. I did have sources, though, that could fill in some of the background.  
"First off," I said as the two men settled in comfortable chairs, "I want to make sure I have the facts straight, such as we know them. I will go over what you told me this afternoon and then will ask a number of questions. Finally, we need to discuss your plans vis-a-vis the contact, which I understand is to be sometime tomorrow evening."  
The two women nodded, the Duke inclined his head and the General took a sip of brandy.  
I always think better on my feet and I used them to take me to the bar for a refill. Leaning against the bar, drink in hand, I launched into a summary of our earlier discussion, adding information I had gleaned from a brief telephone conversation with one Sam Markings, my favorite bookie.  
"Raymond Doyle, twenty-eight, is your steeplechase jockey and has been employed by you in that capacity for nine years. He is the rider of Orkney Isles which is expected to be heavy favorite in the Gold Cup in three weeks’ time. Yesterday, I assume in the early afternoon, you received a letter by post stating that Doyle had been kidnapped and was being held for a quarter of a million pounds ransom.  
"Upon receipt of the letter your first reaction was that it was a joke, but you nevertheless telephoned the people with whom Doyle was spending the weekend. They informed you that his visit had been canceled at the last minute by your secretary. No reason was given for the cancellation other than routine and unimportant excuses.  
"Some time after the letter was received, and having given you sufficient time to verify that Doyle was, in fact, missing, you received a telephone call at Bancroft Hall. You were told that if, after forty-eight hours, no suspicious activity was seen - supposedly hordes of police and wailing sirens - you would be contacted again with instructions on how to deliver the ransom.  
"You then contacted my uncle, an old family friend and an influential member of the racing establishment, and asked his advice. He, in turn, invited me into the game. Is that a fair synopsis of the situation to date?"  
"Completely accurate, Captain Bodie.”  
"Thank you, sir, but I would appreciate it if you would drop the 'Captain' and just call me 'Bodie.' Captain reminds me of a time I would rather forget, and William was, and always will be, my grandfather."  
With a twinkle in her eyes Lady Margaret said, "Ah, yes. William! We shall have to have a talk about him when this is all over. I have one or two amusing stories you might enjoy."  
From the way she said it, I just hoped that the "Sun" wouldn't get the stories. I don't think the family would like the notoriety of being spread all over the tabloid press. I vowed to get her alone just as soon as possible. But that could, and would, wait.  
"If I may continue? There are several questions that come to mind. First, how long had Doyle been planning this trip?"  
Lady Helen had the answer. "For about ten days. He had been working hard with Orkney Isles for the past few weeks and it was decided that Orkney would have a short break before the final run up to the Gold Cup."  
"How many people knew about the plans?"  
Again, it was Lady Helen who answered, "Well, I suppose everyone in the household knew, or could have known. It was discussed openly because Raymond was undecided about where to go. He had received several invitations, including one to race in America."  
At my raised eyebrows she continued, "We have some dear friends in Virginia and they are holding a major steeplechase event in a few days. Their jockey had some unexpected emergency and will not be available to ride. They thought Raymond might like a change and called him. He never really considered it because he is not riding much before Cheltenham. I think he doesn't want to run the risk of an injury. Orkney has never had another rider and probably wouldn't do well with a substitute."  
"You are sure the phone call was from your friends in the States?"  
This time the Duke answered, "Yes, of course. I talked to Carlton myself. Why do you ask?"  
"Forgive me, sir, but I have to consider all the facts. It just seems convenient that an invitation to go to America should arrive at this time. Kidnapping is not an English crime, but it is more common in the United States. Also, I do not like coincidence. One jockey has an emergency and then the proposed substitute is kidnapped. It's probably just coincidence, but I would suggest a call to Virginia might be in order."  
"Of course, I understand. I can ring them if you like. It is mid-afternoon in Virginia and Carlton should be at home in a few hours."  
"I think it might be a good idea. However, please have a valid reason for calling. I want to limit the number of people who know, or suspect, there is a problem."  
"That's easily covered. I shall invite Carlton and Cynthia to fly over for the National Hunt Meeting."  
"That will be fine. Be sure and ask about his jockey. I'm curious. Now, about the people Doyle was to visit, the..."  
"Walstons," furnished Lady Helen.  
"Yes, the Walstons. Supposedly they were told some story to keep them from being too suspicious."  
"Of course," answered the Duke. "I left the line for a short time and then came back and said that my secretary had made the call for Raymond at his request because the trainer needed him. I hadn't been told about the change in plans because I had been out most of the day and only just returned."  
"And they accepted your explanation?"  
"Well, they certainly seemed to. Asked me to have Doyle give them a ring so they could plan something later in the spring. Everything seemed perfectly normal at their end."  
"Let's get back to who knew about Doyle's plans."  
Lady Helen was thoughtful for a minute, then began to count off on her fingers. "Well, the entire household staff would most likely have known. We have a live-in staff of eleven including butler, housekeeper, cook, assistant cook, chauffeur, head gardener, two maids, plus my mother's and my personal maids and my brother's valet. We also have six or seven day helpers that come in from the village. They are mostly groundskeepers, but one or two women help with the cleaning. The most likely people to have overheard plans were the butler, housekeeper, chauffeur and the house maids. I may have mentioned it to Naomi, my personal maid.”  
"I see. Knowing people's proclivity for harmless gossip, it could have been talked about by the staff and spread to the village."  
Here the Duke took up the recital. "As far as the stable lads, I am sure most of them knew because of the training schedule which Richard Howard laid out. Howard is my trainer. He's been my trainer for about twenty years and his father was the trainer before him.  
I was back in Never Never Land. The trainer who has been with the Duke almost twice as long as Doyle and was a second-generation employee was "Howard" whereas the jockey was "Raymond."  
A glance at my uncle showed that he had caught the same interesting fact. Someone was going to have to explain the relationship between Doyle and the Westmoreland family pretty soon. I kept tripping over it and I couldn't escape the belief that it was part of the answer.  
"Would the stable lads be likely to know where Doyle was planning to spend his holiday?"  
"I don't know. Raymond could have mentioned it. The Walston's are a well-known racing family and some of the lads might have known them."  
"Are there any other people who would know about Doyle's plans?"  
"Let's see. Thomas Elliot, my secretary, knew. We had several family members and guests staying over the past week." The Duke paused to think then continued, "My daughter, Catherine, and her fiancé came down last weekend; my son, John, and his cousin, Charles, came down from Oxford with a few of their friends; and Philippe and Valerie St. Cyr came over from Paris for a few days. Philippe is considering buying a novice hurdler I am thinking about selling. Fortunately, my wife is visiting her sister in Florida."  
I was quiet, reviewing the information in my mind, when Martha appeared in the doorway. "Dinner is ready, General. Shall I hold it or will you come through?"  
"Thank you, Martha. We will come now. Lady Margaret." The Duchess rose gracefully and my uncle escorted her from the drawing room across the hall to the dining room. The Duke assisted his sister with her wheelchair and I brought up the rear, still thinking hard about what I had learned.  
Dinner was a pleasant time. Martha is a wonderful cook and the crown roast was superb. My uncle has an excellent cellar and the claret he had chosen was one of my favorites. Finally, the sherried trifle served as a delightful finish for an exquisite repast.  
By unstated decree, the discussion of the kidnapping was put on temporary hold. The Duchess and the General spent most of the time talking about old friends and past happenings. It was like reading Who's Who and Burke's Peerage all in one. Unfortunately, I was paying scant attention; my thoughts kept going over the facts of the kidnapping. One thing was very clear, but I intended to keep that little fact to myself for the time being.  
"Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?" asked my uncle. He stood, offered his arm to the Duchess, and they again led the rest of us across the hall.  
When we were settled, my uncle passed around port, sherry and brandy, depending on the individual desires. Out of respect for the ladies, the humidor remained closed.  
"Very well, William, what do you think?"  
"Well, Uncle, you know I am not really a detective. My area of expertise is negotiating with kidnappers and serving as a liaison with the local police."  
My uncle nodded in agreement then waited for me to continue.  
"That brings me to a very serious problem. The Sussex police have not been notified and technically everyone with knowledge of the kidnapping is guilty of breaking the law. I really must insist that we notify the authorities before we proceed any further."  
My uncle looked at the Duke and nodded, "I told you that William would expect you to adhere to the law. I remind you that you agreed to follow his advice when you asked me to bring him down here. I don't see that you can afford to ignore that advice simply because you do not like it."  
"Please, John, we agreed not to call in the police. Think about Raymond. You know what the kidnappers said. We can't afford to risk his life." Lady Helen reached out to her brother, her fear palpable.  
"Helen, please. What would you have me do? We need Bodie, we agreed on that. He is the best man to help us get Raymond back. He is the expert, not us. Surely he would not advise us to do anything not in Raymond's best interest. Would you?" he appealed to me.  
I moved to kneel at Lady Helen's side. Taking her cold hand in mine, I sought to reassure her. "Lady Helen, you must understand. If everything works by the book, the kidnappers will get the ransom and release Doyle and everything will be fine. However, and I don't want to alarm you needlessly, things seldom work by the book. There are hitches and problems. Kidnappers spook easily and are suspicious of the least little thing. Far too often they get the money and the victim is never recovered because they are afraid they could be identified."  
Lady Helen gasped and clutched my hand. I continued to be honest with her.  
"That is one of the main reasons it is necessary to have the authorities involved. They can begin the task of looking for Doyle over the next twenty-four hours. You must believe that they have squads that are especially trained to handle these types of crimes."  
"But, as you yourself said, kidnapping is not an English crime. How much can they know about it?"  
I could have kicked myself because in one respect Lady Helen was correct. I didn't have a lot of confidence in them based on past experience; however, I supposed they had learned a lot in the past five years. I hoped so; otherwise Raymond Doyle could be in a lot of trouble.  
Before I could answer, the Duchess made the decision for her family. "Bodie, would you please notify the proper authorities. John, I believe you were going to ring Carlton, so it is best we return to Bancroft Hall. It is already quite late. Sturgis will be waiting with the car, I expect.” Turning to me, Lady Margaret said, "We will trust your judgment. Do what you think best."  
Both John Westmoreland and his sister looked as though they would oppose their mother, but in the end they followed her from the room and out of the house.  
"Do you want me to make the call?" I asked my uncle.  
"No. I know the Lord Lieutenant. I will telephone him."  
"What are you going to say about the time delay?"  
"The truth."  
I nodded and walked from the room. From now on I was no longer in control of the situation; not that I ever had been. The kidnappers were in charge for the time being and very shortly the Sussex police would take over center stage. I hoped they were equal to the task for Doyle's sake and also for the sake of the Westmoreland family. They were tied together somehow that I didn't yet understand, but the bond was undeniably strong.  
I suddenly felt very tired and realised that the lack of sleep for the past--what was it? Ninety-six hours?-- had caught up with me. Events would have to move ahead without me for the time being. Tomorrow would come soon enough. I just hoped I was ready for it.

 

When I entered the breakfast room the next morning, my uncle was perusing the “Sporting Life.”  
“Did you sleep well, William?”  
“Well, I certainly feel more alive than I did last evening. Did you reach the authorities?”  
“Yes, the Lord Lieutenant must have moved quickly. We decided that it would be best if I was the temporary go between since I am known to be an old family friend. I was contacted by Chief Superintendent Carlisle very early this morning. It was decided that in order to appear as inconspicuous as possible, John and I would attend a meeting of the Jockey Club at Fontwell Park at eleven o’clock this morning. It was fortunate that a meeting has been scheduled there for several weeks so it should not arouse suspicions of anyone watching. You and the Chief Superintendent will be just one of many people passing in and out all morning. I will leave around ten o’clock to pick John up. You can leave after you have finished your breakfast.”  
“It sounds like a good plan and, you are right, it shouldn’t arouse suspicions. Did you get an impression of Carlisle? Is he going to play along or is he another glory-seeker?”  
“William, in spite of your experiences with the Metropolitan police, not every British police officer is a fool like Bradley.”  
My response was largely unprintable but my uncle only sighed and returned to his newspaper.

 

At precisely ten o’clock General Sir Percy Marlowe roared down the drive of Foxly Grove in his black Range Rover. He drove rather like he rode – flat out at speed.  
A few minutes later I followed in the Jag at a more sedate pace. I wanted to get to Fontwell Park early to check out the famed race track. I doubted I would spot anything amiss, but I did want to chat with some of the racing people to see if any rumours had started to circulate. When I had talked to Sam Markings yesterday, he said no unusual bets were being placed and that everything in the racing world was as would be expected three weeks from the big race.  
This partially re-assured me. The lack of unusually large betting made me think that the kidnapping was not spearheaded by a professional criminal element. However, that also meant that it was probably a group of relative amateurs which were always chancy. That of course was assuming that the kidnapping had anything to do with Doyle’s riding of Orkney Isles. But the demand of payment from the Duke of Westmoreland almost certainly placed the purpose of the kidnapping as being race related. I simply didn’t have enough to go on and would have to take my cues from the kidnappers when I talked to them. It had been decided that the Duke would explain that I was to be his representative. I would negotiate with the kidnappers, deliver the ransom when an agreeable method was agreed upon, and hopefully return Raymond Doyle in one piece. After that, my job would be done.

 

I arrived at Fontwell Park about forty-five minutes later. The back roads to the small village had been mostly empty but there was a buzz of activity in the car park. I found a parking spot and headed for the stables. There were a number of grooms leading horses and a few horses doing gallops on the track. I watched for a few minutes and walked over to a bored looking man with binoculars hung around his neck.  
“How are they running?” I asked politely.  
“Not bad. The grey is showing promise but the rest are only so so. I haven’t seen you here before.”  
“I’m just waiting for my uncle. He’s here for a meeting.”  
We chatted a few more minutes and I got the overall impression that it was very much business as usual. Everyone I saw seemed singularly unimpressed with the horses, the weather, and the general state of things in racing circles. I am usually quite good at reading tensions and Fontwell Park was definitely on the sleepy side this morning.  
Shortly after eleven o’clock, I strolled toward the administration building and was at once directed to the small meeting room that had been allocated to my uncle. When I opened the door I saw that my uncle and Lord Westmoreland were sitting on the divan drinking cups of something warm. I suspected coffee with additives. Across from them, in one of two club chairs, was a slight, blond man with a bland face and horn-rimmed glasses. I assumed this was Chief Superintendent Carlisle. Briefly I wondered if the glasses were a disguise because I had never seen anyone who looked less like a senior policeman in my life.  
“Ah, good, join us, William. This is Chief Superintendent Carlisle of the Sussex police force. Chief Superintendent, this is my nephew, William Bodie. As I told you, William is a specialist in negotiating these situations.”  
“How do you do, Captain Bodie. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Carlisle had risen and extended his hand to me. I shook it and wondered briefly how he knew my previous rank. A pair of sharp brown eyes evaluated me and, whatever he saw, Carlisle must have decided he approved. He motioned me to sit next to him and turned back to my uncle and the Duke.  
“I was just explaining that we located Mr. Doyle’s car at Brighton rail station about two hours ago. It was in extended parking and there was no suitcase inside which indicates that Mr. Doyle may have been taken when he arrived there, or perhaps even taken from the train somewhere in transit. Unfortunately, that is a busy station and we have been unable to locate anyone that saw Mr. Doyle or noticed anything unusual. Forensics has the car now and hopefully we may learn something from it.   
“In the meantime, I believe I have all of the facts as relayed by General Marlowe. Has anything additional happened this morning, sir, or have you seen anything unusual in and around Bancroft Hall?” queried Carlisle.  
“No, nothing. General Marlowe called for me this morning as arranged and we came directly here. I have neither seen nor heard anything from the kidnappers since their phone call day before yesterday. I am expecting a second phone call sometime later this afternoon.”  
“To the best of your knowledge, how many people know about the kidnapping? You said you received a letter. Did your secretary open it?”  
“No, Chief Superintendent. It was marked ‘personal’ and was delivered to me unopened. The only people who know about this should be myself, my mother, my sister, General Marlowe and Captain Bodie.”  
“I see,” Carlisle answered thoughtfully.   
“What are your plans?” I asked him.  
“Normally I would put men on site, perhaps in undercover roles as gardeners or workmen. In this case, however, there are a number of people who would recognise strangers on the grounds. We can’t be completely certain that no one on the estate is complicit in the kidnapping, so I don’t want to do that. We are fortunate in that we have you on the scene to interface with the kidnappers throughout Step One of the operation.  
“What I am proposing is that we do nothing to impede the delivery of the ransom. We leave the negotiation and delivery to Captain Bodie and once we know Raymond Doyle is safe, we will go to Step Two – capture of the kidnappers and recovery of the money. We will have men stationed around the drop-off point but they will be on observation orders only.  
“Since we can’t bring men into your home, I am going to assume Captain Bodie will be able to place a monitoring device discreetly on the telephone. Likewise, I will give him a number of tracking devices to put with the ransom. That way we will be able to follow the kidnappers if we aren’t able to apprehend them at the drop site.”  
“That’s a sound strategy, Chief Superintendent,” the General commented thoughtfully. “Very sound. Well, I am sure you have matters to discuss with my nephew so, if you are finished with us, I shall return Lord Westmoreland to Bancroft Hall. I am sure Lady Margaret and Lady Helen are anxious for news.”  
Carlisle and I stood as the two older men left, then he motioned me to sit again.  
“I must say, Captain Bodie, I am very glad that you are on hand to give assistance.”  
“Please, just Bodie. I dropped the Captain when I left the service. Forgive me, Chief Superintendent, but you seem rather open to having me involved. In my experience, that isn’t usually the case when I liaise with the police agencies, of any country.”  
“I attended a discussion about successful negotiating tactics at Hendon about six years ago. You were one of the speakers and I was impressed with your knowledge and your experience.”  
“I see.”  
“I also attended a follow-up course a few years ago which entailed a detailed analysis of the incident at the Israeli embassy in 1992. Your name figured prominently. The consensus by everyone attending was that if the police had listened to you, it wouldn’t have been the mother of all fuck-ups and the assault team wouldn’t have suffered so many casualties. Bradley was forced into retirement. Did you know?”  
“I neither knew nor cared.”  
“You left the SAS shortly afterward, I understand, and started your own firm as a professional crisis negotiator. Strangely enough all of your work has been outside the country, never in the UK.”  
I heard the question that Carlisle didn’t quite ask.   
“No,” I answered sharply, then relented because I felt I owed Carlisle a measure of respect for his handling of the case to date. “I didn’t have a lot of faith in the British police five years ago, and haven’t seen a lot to change my opinion. Until now.”  
A slight smile crossed the policeman’s face. “Well, I shall have to make sure we don’t do anything stupid, won’t I. Now let me show you how the phone equipment and the tracking devices work.”

 

It was just after three o’clock in the afternoon when I arrived at Bancroft Hall. Carlisle and I had gone over plans and equipment and then I had stopped by Foxly Grove to get some personal equipment. I wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.  
The remainder of the day was strained even though Lady Margaret attempted to portray a calming presence. The General arrived around four o’clock in time for tea. Afterwards he and the Duke went to the stables to look at some horses. I spent the time attaching a monitor to the telephone and investigating the best way to manage the money. A quarter of a million dollars is extremely bulky and I wasn’t sure what the kidnappers would demand. I wanted to have my options scoped out before the call in case I had to move immediately.  
As the evening wore on, the tension became almost intolerable and Lady Helen was on the verge of hysteria. No one ate much at dinner, and when the phone rang at nine o’clock, it was with a sense of relief that I answered the call as we had decided.  
“May I speak with his Grace, please?” asked a muffled voice.  
“My name is William Bodie. I am a professional negotiator that the Duke of Westmoreland has retained to handle the transfer of the merchandise. I have complete authority to bring this to a satisfactory conclusion.”  
There was a period of silence and the voice said, “I’ll call back,” and hung up.  
I was not too surprised because I assumed the kidnappers would need to consider this. Lady Helen, however, was clutching at my arm wanting to know what was going on. Just as I was reassuring her, the phone rang again and I answered.  
The same voice said, “That is fine. Have all of the other conditions been met? No police and the sum of a quarter million in fifty-pound notes?”  
“Yes. However, before we proceed, I will need to speak to Mr. Doyle.”  
“Of course. I will call you within the hour and we will finalise the details of the transfer.” Again he hung up. Very civilised, my opposite. He certainly wasn’t staying on the phone long enough for a trace. That meant he was probably either very smart or a professional criminal, or both.   
Forty-five minutes later the phone rang and once more I picked up the receiver. “Put the Duke on the phone, please, there is someone here who wishes to speak with him.”  
Impatiently, Westmoreland grabbed the phone and asked anxiously, “Raymond, are you all right?”  
After a brief conversation, he handed the phone back to me with a nod. “That was definitely Raymond and he would seem to be quite fine, just furious.”  
My friend with the muffled voice was back. When he had finished giving me detailed instructions and hung up, I stood there for a minute before I called Carlisle.  
“We have a problem.”

 

At half eight the next morning, I came downstairs in jodhpurs, riding boots and a leather jacket. My mobile phone was in an inside pocket and my Remington Hi-Power was tucked into its shoulder holster. I carried the compass I would need, as I continued outside and joined the Duke and the General in the misty morning gloom. A storm was on the way and high winds would keep the air support grounded. I watched as a groom brought out the eighteen-hand jumper. After assisting me with the mount, the Duke handed me two large canvas bags which I attached with a special strap around the horse’s withers. I had already hidden the tracking devices in the handles, plus I had another one on my person.   
The Duke reached up to shake my hand. “Good luck, Bodie. Bring Raymond back to us.” Then he stepped away. The General patted my leg and with a final nod, I checked the compass and headed due east across the wide valley. The location, as Carlisle and I had discussed the previous evening, would preclude any sort of police surveillance because we didn’t know exactly where the drop would be. I had been instructed to ride east across the Downs until contacted on my mobile.  
I had been riding for about an hour and was thoroughly chilled. My reflexes would be slowed a little and I suspected this was the kidnappers’ intent. I had stopped to check the compass when the mobile rang and my muffled-voiced friend said, “Good morning. You are right on time. I want you to drop the money bags and ride off about ten yards. I know I can trust you not to do anything stupid.”  
Glad that contact had finally been made, I did as instructed and watched as a man rode out of the woods to my left and dismounted by the bags. He was wearing a balaclava and gloves and quickly checked that the bags were both full of money then he mounted again.  
“Dismount and walk back ten yards.” Instead of complying, I asked, “And where is Raymond Doyle?”  
“He is quite safe. I intend to take your horse and leave him tied to a tree due north from here about fifteen minutes. Attached to the saddle will be detailed instructions on how to find Doyle.”  
“And you expect me to trust your word that Doyle is safe?”  
“Of course not. Your mobile should be ringing any moment. Ah, right on time. Answer it.”  
“Hello.”   
I was greeted by a stream of profanity followed by, “Who the hell is this?”  
“Mr. Doyle? My name is Bodie and I have been hired by the Duke of Westmoreland to obtain your release. Are you all right?”  
“Yeah, I guess so.” The conversation ended then and I heard the phone clicking off.  
“Satisfied, Mister Bodie? Rest assured, Doyle has been well cared for.”  
Seeing little option at this point, I dismounted and moved away as the man approached and took up the reins of my horse. “Fifteen minutes due north,” he said then turned his horse and headed into the woods.  
As I tramped across the soggy ground, I thought hard about what had just transpired and filed some important facts away to share with Carlisle.  
Sure enough, about ten minutes later I spotted my horse tied to a tree with instructions tucked inside a waterproof envelope under the saddle along with a heavy key. I quickly read the instructions then mounted and checked the compass and headed through the woods on a northwest heading. I was pretty sure I was still on the huge Westmoreland estate--which raised all kinds of interesting questions. But they could wait until I had Doyle. About thirty minutes later I saw a ramshackle cottage buried deep in the woods. It looked as though it had been abandoned for decades. Dismounting, I unholstered my gun and approached the cottage carefully. At the door I called, “Doyle, Raymond Doyle?”  
From inside I heard a muffled exclamation and with a sense of relief I pushed open the door. I had found the jockey.   
A pair of spitting green eyes glared at me. “Who the fuck are you? Get this fucking chain off my ankle.”

Chapter Two

Sixteen days later I watched as Orkney Isles and Raymond Doyle, wearing his now famous orange and yellow diamond silks, won the 70th running of the Cheltenham Gold Cup by nine lengths.  
In those sixteen days, I had accepted the gratitude of the Westmorelands, enhanced by a sizeable check from the Duke. I had had several follow-up meetings with Chief Inspector Carlisle, lunched with the General, and taken a brief respite from the English winter with a visit to friends in Barbados. My bank account now very healthy indeed, what with the check from the Italian insurance company and Westmoreland’s addition, I had declared the office closed and given Barbara a bonus and sent her off to Paris for a week while I headed for the Caribbean.  
Now I was back in England watching the successful result of my work of three weeks before. I even added to my account with Sam Markings with a sizeable wager on Orkney Isles to win.  
I turned at a touch on my shoulder to see a smiling John Westmoreland followed by Lady Margaret on their way to the winner’s circle. “This is as much your success as mine, Bodie.”  
“Nonsense, sir. It’s all Orkney Isles and Raymond Doyle.”  
“Well, we could debate that all day. But, please, I am having a celebration tomorrow night at Bancroft Hall and I hope you will attend.”  
“Thank you, sir, I would be honoured.”  
“Good. Raymond especially would like to thank you. There wasn’t much time with everything that was going on just after his release and the police investigation.”  
“How is that investigation coming?” I asked more out of politeness than anything. I had met Charles Carlisle for lunch when I returned from Barbados and he had updated me on the hunt for the kidnappers which, not unsurprising, was going slowly.  
“They really haven’t told me much,” answered the Duke, “but we can discuss it tomorrow. Now I really must get to the ring.” I noticed an impatient functionary and said goodbye to the Westmorelands.  
As I was walking across the paddock toward the car park, I saw Sam Markings waving to me and I detoured to find out what he wanted. Sam is a wizened little man; a former flat racing jockey, he reminds me of an Irish leprechaun. But he knows more about what is going on in British horse racing than just about anyone I know.  
“Well, boyo, you didn’t get that tan in England. Southern climes?”  
“Hello, Sam. No, I was sunbathing in the Arctic.”  
A loud chuckle greeted this, and then he lowered his voice. “You know that matter you wanted me to look into?”  
Before I left the country I had called Sam and asked him to scout around and see if he could find out anything about Doyle and Orkney Isles. By this time rumours had started to circulate about something odd happening, but somehow, probably the power of the old boy network, the story hadn’t made the dailies. Now perhaps Sam had something for me.  
After looking around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, he continued. “I checked all of my sources, including the hard men, and no one knows nothin’. The big money boys weren’t involved because the payoff was too small to risk a major flap. If I had to guess, I would say it was a friggin’ bunch of amateurs that got lucky.”  
“Thanks, Sam. That’s more or less what I thought, too, but I needed to check. I owe you one.”  
“Nah, that’s on the house. I can tell you some of the guys are a little upset at the kidnappers ‘cause they don’t like things that draw too close attention to the business from the police and the racing authorities. They sort of have their feelers out, too.”  
“Let me know if anyone comes up with anything. They may hear something before the police.”  
“Will do, mate. Take care.” With that Sam faded back into the crowd and I joined the crowd streaming toward the car park.

 

I had driven down from Cheltenham Thursday evening after the race and spent Friday catching up on the most urgent correspondence and returning phone calls. Never a fan of the administrative side of my business, I left the majority of the work for Barbara to handle on Monday. Now as I approached Bancroft Hall dressed in black tie, I was looking forward to a congenial evening.   
It was just nine o’clock but the party was in full swing as Reynolds, the Westmoreland butler, admitted me. I followed the voices and music into the drawing room and was greeted at once by Lady Helen.  
“Captain Bodie, I am so glad you came,” she said, extending her right hand. I noticed she looked years younger than when I had first seen her at Foxly Grove three weeks previously. She was incredibly happy, filled with the vibrancy I remembered from old.  
“John is here somewhere,” she said gesturing vaguely around the room. “Do make yourself at home. I know Raymond wants to talk to you but I don’t think he is here yet.” Then she wheeled away to greet another guest.  
Heading toward the bar I greeted a number of acquaintances and was enjoying mingling when a burst of applause caused me to turn toward the source.  
Raymond Doyle had arrived.  
The man who walked into the room was far removed from the angry, scruffy, dirty man I had last seen when I delivered him to Bancroft Hall. This man was gorgeous. A small frisson of desire ran up my spine as I put my glass down to join the applause.  
The Duke came forward to welcome his champion jockey and they clasped as only two English friends did.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the winner of the Cheltenham Gold Cup, Raymond Doyle,” shouted the now slightly inebriated Duke. Well, why not? He deserved to be a little light-headed after the last few weeks.  
After that Doyle made his way slowly around the room, accepting praise and congratulations as he moved from group to group. After a few minutes, I noticed he appeared to be heading in a more or less straight line toward me. After about ten minutes he finally made it to where I was standing at one end of the bar.  
“I’ll have a whiskey,” he ordered from the barman and then turned to me.  
“You’re William Bodie, aren’t you?”  
“Yes, I am. I must say, you look a lot better than when I saw you last.” Edible was the adjective that flittered through my mind.  
“Well, I wasn’t paying much attention when you found me. I was so fucking angry that all I wanted to do was get back to Bancroft Hall and let the family know I was okay, and check on Orkney.”  
“That’s understandable. Congratulations on the race. I saw you win. You completely outclassed the rest of the field.”  
“That’s Orkney’s doing. I just more or less hung on,” he replied with a grin. I noticed one tooth was chipped which added an urchin-like quality to his smile. Probably a souvenir from a fall. I also noticed his cheekbone was slightly damaged as well. Racing, especially jump racing, is a dangerous sport even for the very best.  
“Listen, would you like to see Orkney?” Doyle asked after a few minutes of small talk which was periodically interrupted by well-wishers. “I really would like to get away from the crowd.”  
“Sure,” I agreed with alacrity. I wanted to spend some time alone with Doyle and see if the subtle signals I had been reading were real or merely wishful thinking on my part.  
“Let’s go out through the study. It will be easier than trying to escape through this mob scene.”  
“Lead on, ‘McDoyle’.“

 

The night was very cold, even in mid-March, and our breathing was slightly heavy by the time we reached the relative warmth of the stable block. By this time, I knew I had read the signals from Doyle correctly and that the heavy breathing had nothing to do with the exertion of walking the quarter mile from the hall.  
Doyle let his hand brush gently against mine then continued down the corridor to a closed stall. He opened the top of the split door and an inquiring equine head emerged to nuzzle the jockey’s palm. Doyle stroked the soft velvet nose of the great jumper and made room for me.  
“Orkney is one of the great ones. It’s kind of sad to know that no matter how many horses I ride in the future, I will never have another like him,” he said wistfully. “Westmoreland is going to retire him after the Grand National next month and put him out to stud.”  
“Tell me about him,” I asked gently, affected by the sadness I read in Doyle.  
“He’s nine years old and he and I grew up together. I was there when he was foaled – a skinny nineteen-year-old with dreams of being a jockey. I was too big for flat racing but John and Richard saw something in me and gave me a chance. I owe them both so much.”  
“I would say that you have repaid them,” I said jovially, trying to lessen the sadness that was rapidly enveloping the younger man.  
Doyle turned toward me, then, and put his hand on my shoulder. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to pull him into my arms and gently kiss his temple.  
“Gay?” he asked.  
“Bi,” I replied, moving my hands inside his jacket and stroking up and down his back. I could feel the tumescence of his cock pressing against me and my own eager response.  
Just then, we heard footsteps and quickly drew apart. When the large ruddy man turned the corner we were feeding horse nuts to an appreciative Orkney Isles.  
“There you are, Ray. The Duke has been looking for you. They are ready for the official toast.”  
“Thanks, Richard. I just wanted to show Bodie Orkney Isles. Richard is Orkney’s trainer. Have you met? Bodie is the man who negotiated my freedom.”  
My hand was clasped in an iron grip and my arm pumped rigorously. “I thank you, Bodie. Ray means a lot to all of us and I don’t think Orkney would ever run for another rider. We owe you a great debt and if you ever need anything I can give you, just let me know.”  
The sincerity of the big man was obvious and he and Ray continued to chat about things equine on the walk back to the hall where the celebrations were even more exuberant and the Duke of Westmoreland was even more tipsy.  
It became obvious that Doyle would not be able to slip away and was expected to stay as long as the party lasted, which at this point appeared would be breaking up sometime around dawn.  
Around midnight I managed to catch a few minutes with a now fairly drunk Doyle and arranged to meet him for dinner the following evening. Then I called it a night and headed home to Wimbledon.

 

Saturday was a round of personal errands and getting supplies in. I had decided that instead of taking Doyle to a restaurant that I would fix something at home. It would be a lot more conducive to talking, and any other activity that we might decide mutually to indulge in.   
I am not a bad cook if I stick to basics, and decided on steak, jacket potatoes, and salad accompanied by a nice claret. If I was lucky, Ray Doyle would be dessert.  
I was just walking in from the shops when the phone rang.  
“Hello.”  
“Hi, Bodie,” said a very energetic-sounding Ray Doyle.  
“You sound very chipper. When I saw you last I wasn’t sure you would be up for much today.”  
“What, oh the drinking. I actually hadn’t had that much to drink. I don’t handle liquor very well it seems. Although, I have been told I am an affectionate drunk,” he chuckled. “So what are the plans for tonight? I assume we are still on.”  
“Of course. I thought I would broil a couple of steaks and open a good wine, if that’s agreeable.’  
“Sounds great. What time and where?”  
“How about seven o’clock? Do you know Wimbledon?”  
“Well, I’ve been to the tennis club on Church Road.”  
“I live in The Village just east of the common – 18 Parkside. It’s not far from the tennis club.”  
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Can I bring anything?”  
“Just your appetite.”  
“Great. See you at seven.”

 

When the bell rang, I was just putting the finishing touches on the salad. Opening the door, I went immediately and instantly on heat. Ray Doyle was leaning against the door frame with an impish grin, wearing the tightest pair of blue jeans I have ever seen off a store manikin. Even though the temperature was close to freezing, he wasn’t wearing a coat, only a dark green jumper than hugged his lean torso. It was easily the most blatant sexual display I have seen since I wandered into a strip club in Kowloon.  
The effect was spoiled when he shivered and pushed his way into the entry.   
“Close the door, will you. It was friggin’ cold out there.”  
“Would you like me to warm you up?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.  
“Maybe after dinner,” he laughed. “I think we are both hot enough right now.”  
“Oh, I don’t know. I imagine we could raise the temperature quite a bit higher.”  
“God, Bodie. I’ve never met anyone who turned me on as fast as you. I’m not usually this forward,” he stammered.  
“Or as blatant?” I asked.  
“That was really bad, wasn’t it? Sorry. It’s just that….” here Doyle stopped and looked at me, suddenly shy.  
“Don’t worry,” I said, throwing an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the drawing room. “I do understand. Right now let’s have a good dinner, some great wine, and see where the rest of the evening takes us. Want to help me start the fire?”  
“I think it’s already started,” he groaned.  
“For the steaks, you idiot,” I smiled. “Come on and I’ll show you the house. The dining room is to the left. The kitchen is straight back. Let me get the grill started.”  
“Outside?”  
“No, the cooker has a grill built in. The house belongs to my brother and they did a lot of entertaining here.”  
“Did? Where is he now?”  
“He and his family are in Canada. He’s a consultant to the Canadian Ministry of Fisheries, two years into a five-year contract. That’s why younger brother – that’s me – is house sitting a twelve-room house in Wimbledon.”  
I nodded to the wine bottle on the counter. “Help yourself, and pour one for me while I get the steaks on. Or maybe you’d prefer something else – whiskey, gin?”  
“No, this is fine. In spite of what you saw last night, I prefer wine or lager when I drink, which isn’t all that often. Even though I don’t have to worry about my weight like a flat racer, I do need to keep it under control.”  
He handed me my glass and then sat at the bar watching me.   
“Those look good,” he commented as I finished with the thick filets and picked up my glass.  
I looked at him for a minute and then moved to stand next to his bar stool. I brushed a fat curl back from his forehead and bent to kiss him gently. It was our first real kiss and was as enjoyable as I knew it would be.  
“Hmmm, nice,” he said, running his hand up my arm and cupping the back of my neck. “We are going to bed tonight, aren’t we?”  
“Yes, and it will be special, but we’d better take it down a notch or we’ll never get through dinner and, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”  
“Sex always makes me hungry.”  
“I’ll have to make sure the pantry is well-stocked, then,” I said with a smile and was rewarded with an answering smile that did strange things both to my cock and my heart.

 

All through dinner and the clean up afterwards, we were relaxed and easy with each other. There was gentle teasing and small talk about the racing community. It wasn’t until we returned to the drawing room with coffee and brandy that we touched on the elephant in the room – the kidnapping.  
“All right, Bodie. I guess we need to talk about the kidnapping. It’s pretty obvious that’s why you wanted to have dinner.”  
“Well, it’s not the only reason,” I grinned, “but we do need to talk about it. There are a couple of things that just don’t make sense.”  
“Such as?”  
“Well, for one thing, why they took a chance on holding you so close to Bancroft Hall and how they even knew about that old cottage where you were held. I talked to Westmoreland and he had forgotten it even existed. I asked the groundskeeper and he said as far as he knew, no one ever went there. It was buried too far back in the woods, several miles from the nearest track. It certainly didn’t look as if anyone had been using it except to keep you.”  
“I know I hadn’t been there since I was a kid.”  
I sat up straighter. “You had been there before?”  
“Sure. All of the estate kids used to hang out there. It was sort of a clubhouse. As we got older we used it as a place to get away from the adults, drink beer, smoke a little weed,” he paused, “have sex. But then we all got older, some of the kids went away to university, others started jobs, and we just drifted away. It wasn’t easy to get to and by that time we had other, more convenient, places to go. I hadn’t been there in probably ten years. To be honest, I didn’t even recognise the place until I had been there for a day.”  
We both sat there for a while thinking, when Doyle set his coffee cup down and stood. “You promised me a tour of the house,” and held out his hand.  
“So I did,” I said as he pulled me up. “Is there any particular room you would like to see?”  
“Oh, I don’t know – the wine cellar, the library, your bedroom.”  
“Why don’t we start with the bedroom and move on from there.”  
“Good idea.”

 

When two men go to bed for the first time, there is rarely an expectation of anything more than a satisfying one night stand. It wasn’t quite the same with Raymond Doyle. As I followed him up the stairs, admiring his gorgeous ass in the skin-tight jeans, I had a feeling that he was becoming important to me. I know that ass was important to my cock. I was hard and ready by the time we reached the bedroom.  
With little preliminaries, I turned the counterpane back and began to undress. Doyle was already undressed and I was amused to see that he wasn’t wearing pants under the jeans.   
“Do you usually go without?” I nodded to the jeans in a puddle on the floor.  
“What, no jokes about jockey shorts?”  
“Come here, you menace to polite society,” I growled as I grabbed him and tumbled us both onto the bed.  
For a few minutes we rolled and stroked, nipped skin and fondled each other’s cocks, but then the tempo changed. We began to take time to learn one another’s bodies. Ray nuzzled my neck and licked delicately at the skin behind my ear. I carded my fingers through his curls and kissed his mismatched cheekbone. He told me he loved to be fucked.  
It seemed the most normal thing for us to ease into a rhythm lovers – lovers? – had been using for millennia. When I reached for the lube and condoms in the bedside table, Ray merely nodded and knelt for me to prepare him. When I slipped into his body it seemed the most natural thing in the world, as though I had done it hundreds of times before. I grasped Ray’s cock and with swift, sure strokes I sent him over the top. His release spurred me on and I thrust hard and fast to my own release.  
Sometime later, it seemed hours, I rolled over and looked at him. He smiled at me, looking like nothing so much as a contented satyr. “Stay?” I asked, and he only nodded and pulled me into his arms. He was asleep in seconds but I lay there awhile, thinking about fate and whether I should send my uncle a bottle of his favorite brandy with a thank you note. I doubted he would see the humour, but then again he might.

Chapter Three

I immediately noticed three things when I awoke Sunday morning. One, I had to pee; two, it was raining; and three, Ray snored. Leaving my bedmate to sleep on, I took care of my most urgent needs and then went downstairs to put the coffee on. I was just starting back up the stairs to get dressed when I met Ray coming down, wearing a bathrobe he had found on the door in the bathroom.  
“Good morning,” I greeted him. “You look like a shagged-out hamster.”  
“Piss off,” he growled but his smile took the sting out of his words. “Do I smell coffee?”  
“Yes. I was just coming up to wake you. It’s raining,” I said unnecessarily. “Do you have plans for today?”  
“Well, I did, but they’ve been scrubbed.” He gestured toward the window. “I was going to get some training time in on a couple of jumpers that Richard is considering entering in a novice race next month.”  
“So, you have nowhere you need to be today?”  
“Why, what did you have in mind?”  
“I was thinking of a drive into London. I have an artist friend who is having a preview of his newest exhibition in Chelsea this afternoon and I promised I would try and come. Would you like to come with me?”  
“Sure, why not. I don’t know much about art, though,” he warned me.  
That’s okay, Ray, I don’t either. Tony is a friend from uni days.’  
“Come on then, let’s get dressed and you can feed me breakfast.” Then he stopped, “Jeans and a jumper might not be right for the Chelsea set.”  
“Are you kidding, compared to Tony and his crowd, you’re a Bond Street model. Hurry up, I’m hungry and my cooking skills don’t extend to breakfast.”

 

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at my local. The rain had kept many people in and we were able to enjoy some quiet time. Ray and I were easy with one another - reading the Sunday papers, discussing football scores and racing results, and speculating on the latest gossip about Charles and Diana.  
“I’ve met them, you know,” Ray said as he polished off the last of his toast.  
“Who, Charles and Diana?”  
“Yeah. It was at Ascot a few years ago just before they separated. They both seemed, I don’t know, sad. It’s too bad really. Two people who were totally wrong for each other.”  
Never that interested in the doings of the royal family, I just shrugged, and went to pay the cheque.

 

On the drive to Chelsea, Ray was unusually quiet. He seemed to be miles away and I was content to let him work out whatever was on his mind. We made good time to the city and were even lucky enough to find a parking place only a couple of blocks from the gallery. Making a dash through the wet streets, I noticed how long Ray’s legs were as he matched me stride for stride. We were both laughing as we more or less stumbled through the gallery doors.  
A number of patrons turned at our entrance, but Tony saw us and hurried over.  
“Bodie, you made it. I was just telling Tom I wasn’t sure if you would chance it, but I’m glad you did.” He glanced at Ray, obviously curious.   
“You knew I wouldn’t miss this – you need someone to tell you the truth about how awful your work is,” I teased. “Tony Weatherford this is a friend, Ray Doyle.”  
“Welcome Ray Doyle, any friend and all that. Say, you’re Raymond Doyle, the jockey! You just won some big race, didn’t you?”  
I could tell that Ray was rather taken aback by Tony. He is not what one thinks of when one thinks of artists. There was no way Tony could ever be considered a starving artist hiding in a garret somewhere. He is six foot eight, close to twenty stone, and prefers to wear caftans. He is one of the best of the new generation of artists and likely to be a very wealthy one, based on the well-heeled crowd milling around the room sipping champagne.  
Tucking Ray’s arm into his, he led him into the throng. “We must compare notes on Bodie. Have you known him long? You are such a tasty morsel I am sure he has plumbed your depths.” To Ray’s credit, he didn’t blush although he stumbled slightly.   
As I strolled around the room looking at the paintings, I would catch sight of Tony still keeping a tight grip on Ray. From time to time I could tell Tony was introducing Ray to some of his friends. Tony had appropriated a champagne bottle and was filling glasses for one and all. Fortunately, Ray had avoided accepting a glass so he was sober when he finally escaped Tony’s attentions.  
“Still in one piece?” I asked when he joined me. “Tony can be a little over-powering.”  
“A little? But you are right, he is very talented and he thinks the world of you.”  
“We’ve known each other for more than fifteen years. You wouldn’t know it to look at him but he has one of the best financial minds in the country. He took a first in Economics at Trinity but his first love was always art. About five years ago he finally was able to chuck work in The City and devote himself to art full time.”  
Ray turned to stare at the artist, no doubt trying to reconcile the bohemian giant with a financial wizard, but he just shook his head and turned back to me.  
“Bodie, I have something I want to discuss with you but it needs more peace and quiet than here, and it may take a little while.”  
I glanced at my watch. “It’s a little early for dinner. Would you like to go somewhere for a drink?”  
“Yes, but not a pub.”  
I thought for a moment, “I know just the place.”  
A few minutes later we were driving east on Chelsea Embankment headed for Victoria Embankment. Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the American Bar at the Savoy Hotel.  
After we ordered, I let Ray take his time. It was obvious he had had something on his mind ever since we left Wimbledon this morning and I wasn’t going to rush him.  
After a few minutes, he looked at me and I realised there was a great deal of anger bubbling just below the surface.  
“Bodie, I want you to help me find the bastards who kidnapped me.” Now that it was out in the open, his feelings came in a rush. “I want to find them and beat them to a bloody pulp. I want to get the money back for John, and I want to see that they never, ever lay hands on another victim again.”  
I should have been shocked at the intensity of his hate, but I instinctively knew that Ray Doyle was a man of strong beliefs and that he was totally committed to this mission.  
“What about the police?” I asked the obvious question.  
“They have done fuck all about finding them. I talked to that policeman, Carlisle, yesterday and all he did was give me the usual platitudes about making progress. That means they have their heads up their arses.”  
I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”  
“Okay? Just like that. Aren’t you going to try and talk me out of it?”  
“Would it do any good?”  
“No,” he answered vehemently.  
“Well, then, let’s not waste time.”  
He reached across the table and rested his hand on my arm. “Bodie, I want you to know, I didn’t go to bed with you to get you to help me. I really wanted to. And I want to do it again, soon and often. You do believe me, don’t you?”  
I thought for a moment and then caressed his hand. “I never thought you did. And, yes, we are going to do it again. There has been a connection between us since the day I opened the door at that abandoned cabin and you began to curse at me for taking so long.”  
He smiled at me, then, a truly honest, open smile that told me that no matter what happened in the future, Ray Doyle and I would be together.  
“So what do we do first?”  
“What?” I had been musing on the future and not really concentrating on the here and now.  
“You’re the detective, how are we going to find the bastards?”  
“First off, I’m not Sam Spade. I’m a negotiator.”  
“Well, you must have some ideas.”  
“Yes, I do. First off we need to go to Foxly Grove and talk to the General. If he’s available, could you go with me tomorrow?”  
“Yes, but I will need to be back at Bancroft Hall by Wednesday. I’m riding in a race on Thursday and we’re starting Orkney’s final prep for the Grand National. It’s in just over two weeks. Why do you want to talk to your uncle?”  
“Because he knows everyone and can introduce me to the people we are likely going to need to talk to. Plus, he can run interference with the Lord Lieutenant and get us police cooperation which we will need.”  
“Come on, then,” said Doyle finishing his drink. “Let’s go call your uncle.”

 

We made good time back to Wimbledon, stopping for Chinese food on the way home. Ray laid out the food while I called the General.  
I explained why we were calling and he said he would see us the next day.  
“He’ll see us tomorrow for lunch,“ I told Ray as I hung up. It suddenly occurred to me that in spite of having spent the last twenty-four hours in his company, I knew very little about him. I didn’t even know where he lived.  
Later over mu shu, I asked, “Will you stay or drive back to Bancroft Hall tonight?”  
“I’ll go back tonight. I need fresh clothes and I should let Richard know I won’t be around until Wednesday. I have a small cottage on the estate. It makes it convenient for the training schedule. I think I’ll push off now.”  
I reached out and rested my hand on his shoulder. “Everything is going to work out, Ray.”  
“I know,” he said as he hugged me. “Tell you what, come by my place early and I’ll make you breakfast and we can talk before we meet your uncle.”  
“Sounds good. How do I find your cottage?”  
“Drive past the main gates and go about a kilometer east. There will be a small road off to the right. Turn there and in about five minutes my cottage will be on the left. You can’t miss it because it’s the only building on that stretch of the road.”  
A quick kiss and he was gone.  
For the first time, the house seemed curiously empty.

Chapter Four

Monday morning I was on the A23 heading for Bancroft Hall which was about ten kilometers west of Burgess Hill in West Sussex, having started early to avoid Monday morning traffic. I had talked to Barbara the night before to let her know my schedule and also to get her started on some research. I had also called Sam Markings for an update on any rumours about the kidnapping. The racing press had finally got wind of the story, but after a few days of intense speculation, the interest faded.  
I had no trouble finding Ray’s cottage and he came to the door as I stepped out of the car.  
“Have any trouble finding this place?”  
“No, the only trouble I had was getting through Crawley. The M23 gets worse all of the time.”  
“Come on in and I’ll put the kettle on, or do you want coffee?”  
“Either one, it doesn’t matter,” I said as I followed Ray into the sitting room.  
He turned and grinned at me. “You’re very accommodating this morning.”  
“I could be a lot more accommodating but we don’t have time. We need to go over some things before we meet the General.”  
Ray had moved into the small kitchen and was busy starting coffee. Looking over his shoulder he asked, “What do you mean?”  
“We need to go over the details of the kidnapping. For instance, I don’t actually know how they got you. My only interest at the time was getting you back and I left it up to the police to investigate the particulars. Also, I need to know everything that you can remember about the cottage and the kidnappers themselves.”  
“I just assumed you knew the whole story.”  
“No, when I met the Duke he merely said you had been kidnapped. The kidnappers were asking a quarter million-pound ransom and he wanted me to get you back. I know you were going by train to meet friends in the west county and that later your car was found at the Brighton rail station. I know you were offered a trip to America, but that appears to be coincidence. But that’s about all I know about the actual kidnapping. I have surmised some things about the kidnappers, but nothing I could swear to.”  
“Okay, let me start breakfast and you can make notes while I cook. Eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast do you?”  
“That’s fine. First off, tell me how you were captured.”  
Doyle paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “I had left my cottage about eight o’clock to drive to Brighton to catch the eleven o’clock train. I was planning to have something to eat in Brighton. I had gone about three kilometers when I saw what appeared to be a motorcycle accident. I saw one person lying beside the bike and another person waving at me. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car. It wasn’t until I was at the bike that I realised both riders still had their helmets on but by that time I had something, chloroform I think, held over my nose. The next thing I knew I was being hustled from my car into the fucking cabin. They must have taken my car to Brighton when they left me.”  
“So they took your car to the cabin. Did you see the motorcycle after the accident? What type was it? Could you identify it?”  
“It was a dark blue Kawasaki 750. I used to have one.”  
“What happened then?”  
Ray stopped to break eggs into the skillet then continued.  
“They put that fucking chain around my ankle and showed me where the toilet was. There was a single bed with several blankets, but there wasn’t any heat and it was cold. There was water in plastic jugs and a supply of food – sandwiches, biscuits, and apples. I will say one thing, they did take care and the food wasn’t bad. Then once a day one of them would come with a hot meal. They would make sure I was on the bed then they would set the food down just out of reach and push it toward me with a rake.”  
Now the big question. “What did they look like?”  
By this time, Doyle was dishing up breakfast and we paused to settle plates, cutlery, and coffee mugs. Then he continued.  
“I never saw them. They always had their helmets on with balaclavas underneath and they wore gloves.”  
“How about their voices? Regional accents? Tone? Timbre?”  
“They never spoke. They gave me a note that first day to let me know I had been kidnapped and that they would release me in about three days when the ransom was paid. That I wouldn’t be hurt if I didn’t do anything stupid. They had already taken my mobile and my boots but they left me my jacket and my gloves. I spent most of the time wrapped up in blankets on the bed. Oh, they left a book for me – a Dick Francis mystery.”  
“What happened to the note?”  
“The police took it, but I did hear later that there were no fingerprints or any other evidence.”  
“Okay, you didn’t see their faces or hear their voices. Was there anything about them that was distinctive? Did one of them have a funny walk or could you even tell if there were only two of them?”  
Ray thought for a long time. “Now that you mention it, I think there were three of them. I only ever saw two of them at a time and they always had the same jackets and helmets, but I could swear one time that one of them was different – slightly smaller. They weren’t big men, maybe a couple of inches shorter than you, but once one of them seemed to be closer to my size, maybe a little smaller, and I’m about three inches shorter than you.”  
“So we are looking for three men, two about five foot ten and one about five foot eight or nine.”  
“Or a woman.” Ray and I looked at each other, clearly startled by his comment.  
“What makes you think it was a woman?”  
“I don’t know. It just popped into my head that one of them could have been a woman.”  
“Could have been or was a woman?” I pushed.  
Again, Ray thought for a long moment, “Was a woman,” he answered, this time with confidence.  
“Anything else you can remember? When they brought the hot food, did they come on their bikes, in a car, or what?”  
“I don’t know. I never heard anything. That cottage is quite a distance from the road, maybe they left the bikes a ways off so I wouldn’t hear them.”  
“That doesn’t make sense. You had already seen the one bike. Maybe they didn’t want you to see a car.”  
”No, I am sure they didn’t come in a car. I would have heard it coming up the track. You saw how rough it was. There would have been some sort of sounds and there weren’t. I only knew they were there when they opened the door.”  
I looked doubtfully at him, and his irritation flashed. “Dammit, I would have definitely heard them if they came in a car or on their bikes.”  
“Well, then, how did they get to an isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter without your hearing them approach?”  
“I don’t bloody well know,” he shouted, “Unless….” He stopped suddenly and looked at me. “Horses, they came on horses. They must have.”  
The enormity of what he had said dawned on both us at the same time.  
“Maybe from Westmoreland’s stables,” I whispered. It looked very much like it was an inside job.  
Realisation hit Ray at the same time, “Someone who knows me, a friend maybe?” The pain and disbelief in his voice was hard to hear and I stood and wrapped my arms around him to still his shivering.  
“We don’t know that, but if it was someone you know, they did make sure you were all right and weren’t hurt. That’s something at least.”  
He pushed me away, shouting, “All right? I was scared to death. I’ll fucking kill ‘em; I’ll rip their hearts out and feed ‘em to the dogs.” The pain was gone, replaced by a raging anger that was fueled by the knowledge that someone he knew and trusted had betrayed Ray Doyle.

Chapter Five

We did a very quick clean-up of the kitchen and we were on the road to Foxly Grove within thirty minutes. Ray was still fuming, but he had calmed down enough to place a mobile call to Chief Superintendent Carlisle to fill him in on what we had discovered. He promised we would stop by the police headquarters in Lewes when we left the General.  
Foxly Grove was only about twenty-five kilometers from Bancroft Hall and it was just on half eleven when I parked on the graveled drive. The large front door was opened by Martha before I reached the bottom step. Martha beamed at me and I was amused to see her fussing over Ray as well. Could biscuits be far behind?  
“Your uncle is in the library. Luncheon will be a while yet so if you would like some refreshments just ring.”  
She turned and bustled back toward the kitchen, stopping to admonish the day maid about the quality of her dusting.  
My uncle was at his desk with a whiskey close to hand and a large atlas opened to a map of China.  
“Come in, William. How do you do, Mr. Doyle? Recovered from your experiences? I was at Cheltenham. Damn fine race.”  
“Thank you, sir. I am quite fine but I never had an opportunity to thank you for your assistance during the kidnapping.”  
“Nonsense, my boy. The Duke of Westmoreland is a good friend and Lady Margaret and I have known each other for almost seven decades. How is the family, by the way?”  
“Lady Margaret decided that Lady Helen needed to rest after the recent excitement and they are visiting in Florida with the Duchess of Westmoreland and her sister. They will all be home in time for the Grand National.”   
“Just as well. Lady Helen in particular was most distressed on your behalf,” acknowledged the General. “Well, William, what was it you wanted to discuss with me? I presume it has something to do with recent events. Forgive me, would you care for a drink? Help yourself.”  
“No, thank you, Uncle. Ray and I have decided to see if we can’t find out who was behind the kidnapping. The police seem to be at a dead end and we think we have discovered some things that will help lead us to them.”  
“Are you asking for my approval, William? If so, I think you are being precipitous. Neither of you are detectives and these are dangerous people.”  
“Belfast was full of dangerous people, sir, and I learned quite a lot in my time with military intelligence.”  
“Terrorists are not the same as criminals. Different motivations entirely.”  
“I know that, but we have several advantages. We’re pretty sure that they live or work on the Westmoreland estate. We think that they kept track of Ray in the cottage by riding in on horses, probably from the Duke’s stables.”  
The General thought for a moment, then asked, “Have you told Westmoreland?”  
Ray answered, “No. We only just figured it out a couple of hours ago. We do intend to see Chief Superintendent Carlisle when we leave here.”  
“Then I suggest you don’t tell John or anyone else, no matter how much you trust them.”  
“Surely you don’t think they were involved,” Ray asked in dismay.  
The General only looked at Ray with disdain. “Of course not. Don’t be an idiot. John Westmoreland has many fine qualities, but I don’t believe acting is one of them. He needs to continue to act normally with the people surrounding him.”  
“Oh. I understand. Bodie and I are going to have to be circumspect, aren’t we?”  
“Yes, if you hope to succeed.” He turned to look directly at me, “I assume you are committed to this, William?”  
“Ray needs to do this,” I said. “And I need to support him.”  
“I see. Then I will make some phone calls this afternoon and see if I can learn anything useful now that we have the scent of our quarry.”   
Just then Martha appeared at the door. “Yes, Martha, we are coming now.” Standing, he motioned us to follow then he said, ”I’ll call you this evening if I learn anything.”

 

Ray and I were in the Jaguar heading south toward Lewes. Lunch had been delicious but we were both too distracted to really enjoy it. Now Ray was running through a list of possible suspects. It was a long list. The General had insisted that everyone should be considered a suspect. He agreed that the Duke, Lady Margaret, and Lady Helen could be excluded but every other person on the estate would have to be investigated in depth.  
As the list grew longer, Ray looked at me helplessly. “We’ll never be able to check all of these people. There’s just too many.”  
“That’s why we’re meeting with Carlisle. The police have the manpower to check everyone.”  
“So do we leave it up to them after all?”  
“Not by a longshot. We can eliminate many of them by checking schedules. Then we concentrate on the most likely.”  
“What are we going to tell the Chief Superintendent?”  
“Everything we know and suspect. We need them, Ray. I want those bastards and if it means working with Charles Carlisle, then we do it.”   
Ray looked at me and smiled, “Okay. You’re the intelligence part of this team.”  
“And what are you?”  
Looking his most angelic, he replied, “Me? Why I’m the muscle.”

 

Carlisle was waiting for us in his office and Ray quickly and succinctly filled him in on our supposition about the events at the cabin where he had been held.   
“That’s some very interesting guesses, Mister Doyle.”  
“They’re not really guesses,” I joined the conversation. “Ray and I spent the better part of the morning going over the event in detail and he was able to remember certain things.”  
“That’s right. After the kidnapping, I just wanted to forget about it. Then there was the training for the Gold Cup and that kept me busy. Well, the race is finished now and I’ve had time to think. I want to get the sods and Bodie is going to help me.”  
“Forgive me, Chief Superintendent, but I think you can use all the help you can get,“ I interrupted. “You’ll have to admit clues are few and far between on the ground. They found and disabled the tracking devices with the money, you weren’t able to trace the phone calls, and there was absolutely nothing that we know about the person who picked up the money. Even the horse was nondescript. There were no fingerprints on the car or in the cabin, and as far as I know there was no other usable forensic evidence.”  
“You are partially correct, Mister Bodie. There have been few clues, so few in fact that late last week we came to the same conclusion. It was an inside job carried out by a very, very intelligent person or persons. What we didn’t know was that there was a third person involved; probably a woman. Also, we hadn’t considered that they were coming to the cabin by horseback. That narrows the list of suspects somewhat.”  
“So what are you doing?” Ray asked impatiently.  
“We have begun a background check on everyone who has access to the estate, as well as any relationships with anyone in any of the nearby villages. You can appreciate it is slow going because we don’t want to alert the kidnappers that we have narrowed the field. In that respect, gentlemen, you can be of assistance.”  
“How?” I asked Carlisle. “And, please drop the Mister. I’m Bodie.”  
“We’ll do it!” said Ray simultaneously.  
“Very well. Mister Doyle, you have access to all parts of the estate and you are less likely to raise alarms with seemingly innocent questions. I am not sure the same can be said for you, Bodie. You don’t have a good reason to be there now that the kidnapping is over.”  
Ray turned to me and casually brushed a speck from my jacket, then turned back to Carlisle with a smile, “Oh, I think we have that covered, Chief Superintendent.”  
Carlisle coughed and raised an eyebrow at us. “I see. Well, yes, in that case Bodie’s presence will be easily explained.”

 

The next hour was spent with Carlisle outlining what they had found out to date about people on the estate but it was surprisingly little and absolutely nothing of use that I could see. However, I made notes and we promised to check in with him every day with any updates or ideas. Then Ray and I made our escape and headed north back to his cottage.  
We were driving through the village near Bancroft Hall when Ray said, “There’s the Green Man ahead on the left. Let’s stop for a pint. I want to see if there’s any interesting gossip. Bill Hancock runs the place and has his finger on the pulse of the surrounding countryside. It’s said no one can sneeze or a vixen bark that Bill doesn’t hear it.”  
I dutifully pulled in the already almost full car park and we entered the crowded pub. Since opening had only been five minutes before, I was surprised at the number of people.  
Ray read my surprise and said, “Bill pulls a good pint, but the real draw is the kitchen. His wife is one of the best cooks in the area. That’s another reason I wanted to stop. Monday is usually game pie.”  
We ordered our drinks and were assured that a couple of game pies would be set aside for us for when we were ready. It took us a while to make it to a table in the corner; everyone wanted to congratulate Ray and talk about the Gold Cup victory. Finally, we made it to our table and had just taken our first drink when a largish man sat down at the table.  
“Evening, Bill. You’ve got a crowd tonight.”  
“It’s Monday,” Bill Hancock said by way of explanation.  
“Well, that’s why we’re here. Bill, I want you to meet a friend of mine, William Bodie.”  
“Bodie,” he said nodding at me. “Thanks for taking care of the lad here.”  
“Do I take it my fame has spread around the area?” I asked smiling.  
“I hear things.”  
Ray picked up his glass of lager and took a long swallow. “If you happen to hear anything interesting, let me know, won’t you?”  
“Not a problem, Ray, and there’s others keeping a look out, too. We don’t like what them sods did. Bodie, nice meetin’ you. See you around.” With that Hancock stood, clasped Ray’s shoulder, and headed back to the bar.

 

The rest of the evening was spent in talk with the villagers, Ray demolished me in a game of darts, and the game pie lived up to its billing.  
About nine o’clock Ray stretched and asked, “I think it’s about time we headed back to the cottage. I have some things I need to do.”  
Since I had some plans of my own for the evening, I agreed with little prompting.  
“You are spending the night, aren’t you,” Ray said, more of a statement than a question.  
“Do you want me to?”  
“What do you think?” he said with a grin.  
“I think you are trouble, Ray Doyle, with a capital T. But then I’ve never run from trouble before.”  
Ray was silent for a long time, just looking at me. Then he shrugged and moved around the car and opened his door. Looking at me across the roof he said with great gentleness, “Let’s go home, Bodie. No more games, no more teasing; just you and me and a warm bed.”  
I followed him into the car and moments later we were heading for the cottage.

 

Ray unlocked the door to his cottage and flipped on the lights. It was a cheery room, full of racing mementoes. There were books stacked on almost every surface and a few plants on the window sills. As Ray prepared the wood in the large fireplace, I took an opportunity to study the room. I hadn’t really looked at it this morning. Noticing a drinks cabinet in the corner I moved over and poured a single brandy then moved to stand behind Ray at the fireplace.  
I ran my hands up his arms and he shivered, but not from cold. I set the glass on the mantle and nuzzled the back of his neck while I slipped my hands under his jumper. When I palmed his nipples he shivered again and pressed my hands to his chest.  
He leaned back against me and felt my rising cock. Without saying anything, he turned and kissed me lightly then dropped to his knees and carefully unzipped my fly.   
“Lay down, Bodie. I want to suck you and it will be better if you aren’t standing.”  
Hurriedly I stepped out of my trousers and tossed them toward the sofa. Ray carefully took the band of my briefs in his teeth and worried them down until my penis jumped free. He leaned forward and blew on my balls and this time I was the one shivering.  
“Oh, god, Ray.”  
“Shhhh! Lay down. I’m just going to turn off the lights.”  
Slowly I sank to my haunches and then stretched out in front of the fire. Ray was a thing of beauty and magic standing there in the firelight looking at me. Then he began to strip and sank beside me. With one arm over my legs, he took my now rigid cock in his right hand and guided it into the moist warmth of his mouth.  
I have had oral sex performed on me by many partners, but none was as skilled or as talented as Ray. His tongue danced from root to tip circling the tiny eye. His teeth nibbled the foreskin and his lips swallowed almost all of me, then slid up again to the tip. All the while his hand was cradling my balls. As my moans and cries got louder, he suddenly stopped.  
“Hush,” he whispered. “It’s too fast, too soon.” When I whimpered my need, he kissed my lips and caressed me until I had come down from my near-explosive height.  
“This time, love, I won’t stop.”  
It was beautiful. He very skillfully took me higher and higher. He licked my cock and sucked on my balls and used his forefinger to press against my anus. Then, just as I reached the brink, he inserted the finger into my anus and sucked hard on my cock. As I shot into his mouth I screamed with the unbridled beauty of Ray Doyle making love to me. Then I collapsed into sleep.  
I must have been asleep for only about five minutes because when I came back to consciousness Ray was gently wiping my now flaccid penis with a warm flannel.  
“I’m sorry, Ray,” I mumbled and reached for him. “Let me.…”  
“No need, lover.”  
Raising my head, I saw that his penis was as flaccid as mine. “What….”  
“I came with you.”  
“But….”  
“Don’t worry about it. It’s getting late and we need to get up early tomorrow to plan our strategy. Come on, lover boy, the bedroom is this way.”  
Somehow, I managed to get to my feet. I looked at my clothes spread over the sofa and pulled my rollneck over my head and tossed it with the rest. Then quite naked, I sleepily followed Ray down the hall and collapsed beside him in the bed. Too tired for more than a quick kiss, I pulled him into my arms and was asleep moments later.

Chapter Six

Tuesday morning was beautiful. It was pissing rain and a cold wind was blowing in from the Channel, but it was beautiful. Ray was stretched out languidly next to me making snuffling noises into the pillow he clutched to his chest.   
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I called as I leaned over Ray and blew into his ear.  
He came awake fast and with lightning reflexes had me flat on my back before I realised what was happening.   
“What’s zat?” he asked groggily.  
“I was trying to wake you. Do you always come awake like that?”  
“Like what?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair then bent down and kissed me.  
“Never mind,” I said as I ran my hands up and down his back. “Come on, we need to think about our approach. You said you needed to be back at the stable tomorrow and I want a rundown on who’s who there. Maybe we can eliminate a few people.”  
“Good idea but I need a shower and breakfast in that order.”  
“Tell you what, jump in the shower and I’ll start breakfast,” I said as he searched around for his clothes. “Or,” I continued, “we could take one together and go to the pub for breakfast.”  
“Sold, but only if you promise to be good.”  
“I’m always good.”  
“And incredibly modest; I can tell. Come on, get a move on.”

 

Ray was in the sitting room straightening up the pillows and collecting the myriad clothing that was strewn around when he noticed the glass of brandy on the mantle.  
“Where did this come from?”  
“Oh! I poured it for us last night, but we got sidetracked. Just leave it there and we’ll finish it tonight. Now about breakfast, back to The Green Man?”  
“Not for breakfast. For that we need the Dog and Duck,” he said seriously. “It’s just outside the main gate about half a kilometer. They make their own sausage and homemade honey and scones. Grab your jacket and let’s make a dash before the rain gets any worse.”   
The Dog and Duck was totally different from the Green Man. While the pub from the previous evening had been a traditional country pub with weathered beams and the feel of several centuries, this morning’s pub was modest and clearly had only been around for a few decades. Noticing my glances, Ray smiled.   
“This is relatively new. It was built during the war to serve the Americans who were billeted at Bancroft. There was quite a large contingent here in the build-up to the Normandy invasion in 1944. Then, when the Americans left, the owner, George Willet, decided to keep it going. His son George Junior runs it now with his wife. She bakes the finest scones in the area and George puts up some of the best honey.”  
I nodded in agreement as we entered the lounge and I caught the first whiff of baking pastry. Like the night before, Ray was greeted by the assembled locals and a young man about Ray’s age. “Hi, Georgie. Is your dad about?”  
“No, he’s over in Dover looking at some hogs he’s thinking of buying to breed into our stock. He’ll be back in a few days.” He glanced at me and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Georgie Willet.”  
“Oh, sorry, Georgie. This is William Bodie, a hungry friend. We came in for some sausage and scones."  
I smiled a greeting as Georgie motioned us toward a table near the fireplace. “Come on then and sit down,” he said. “Do you want tea or coffee? I assume you want the usual.”  
The usual was apparently a full English breakfast and soon Ray and I were comparing notes for the day’s plans over sausage, eggs, tomatoes, and mushrooms. On Ray’s advice I passed on the fried bread in favor of scones with honey and soon saw why he had insisted on the Dog and Duck for breakfast.

 

I pushed my plate aside as I started on my third cup of coffee. Georgie thoughtfully brought us some wipes to clean the honey from our fingers as he cleared the dishes and after a few more words, he left us to our discussion.  
Ray picked up his tea and said, “The rain will definitely work to our advantage because there won’t be any training today and all of the grooms and lads will be in the stables. It will be quite natural for us to mingle and gossip about the upcoming race.”  
“You told Richard you would be back on Wednesday. Will it seem strange, you coming back a day early?”  
“It shouldn’t. There is always a lot of comings and goings, especially in the lead up to a big race. If anyone says anything I can always say the rain caused me to change my plans and I wanted to show you the yard.”  
Over the course of breakfast, we compiled a list of the likely suspects we wanted to start with. They were mostly grooms, attendants, and assistant trainers who had come to work at the Bancroft stables within the past year. There was little turn over and most of the people at the stables had worked there for years; however, a few people were new and Ray thought it better to concentrate on them. I think he didn’t want to believe that older friends could be responsible for the kidnapping, and I agreed with him.   
The one exception was a groom whose sizable gambling debt had been paid off shortly after the kidnapping, according to Sam Markings in an early morning telephone call. Joe Larson had been with the stables for about five years and by all accounts did his job very well and seemed trustworthy, but he owed almost fifteen thousand pounds to one of the big bookies who was not noted for his understanding ways. Larson had also been conveniently on holiday the week of the kidnapping. As a result, he was at the top of our list, followed by five or six others.  
Leaving the car park of the Dog and Duck in a light rain, Ray headed back to the stables at Bancroft Hall and fifteen minutes later we were parking near the elaborate complex of buildings and barns.  
Richard Howard was coming around the corner as we entered the main stable block and he stopped and smiled at us. “Back today, Ray? Hello again, Bodie.”  
“Hi, Richard. The sodding rain changed our plans so I thought I would take today to show Bodie some of the place before he goes back to work.”  
Howard smiled affectionately at Ray and waved him on. “Well, enjoy your visit, Bodie. If you are still around later come by and have a late lunch with my daughter and me.”  
“I didn’t know Susie was down from school? Is she on hols already?”  
Howard answered, “Susie is my daughter, Bodie, and yes she is down from university with a couple of friends. They had planned to get some riding in, but the weather has scuppered their plans. I think they are going back this afternoon or tomorrow.”  
“Well tell her hello for me in case I miss her,” Ray smiled as he took my arm and we started off on our search for Joe Larson and the others on our list of suspects.

 

“Well, that was a waste of an afternoon,” remarked Ray as he stretched out on the sofa in his cottage late Tuesday afternoon. I turned my head to look at him and regretted what I was going to have to do.   
We had spent the afternoon chatting with our prime suspect only to discover that he had spent the week of his holiday working as a technical advisor for a film company that was shooting a racing film in the area. Larson was delighted to share this story with one and all and to let everyone know that the money he was paid by the film company saved him a lot of aggro with his bookie.  
The rest of the suspects also came up clean as near as we could tell. Granted the police were doing a much more in-depth background check, but I doubted they would find anything. No, it was time that I questioned Ray about the rather obvious clue that everyone seemed to have overlooked, but which had been obvious to me from the very beginning.  
I headed to the kitchen and pulled a couple of lagers from the refrigerator and returned to the sitting room. Handing one to Ray, I sat down on the coffee table opposite him and stared at him, not looking forward to the discussion we had to have.  
“What? You look like someone kicked your dog. I know we didn’t get anything today, but we were able to eliminate a few people from the list. That’s something.”  
“Ray, before we go any further, I need to ask you some very personal questions that I suspect you aren’t going to like.”  
Slowly Ray sat up and took a long draw from the bottle. I watched as his face closed up and for an instant I wanted to hold him and tell him to forget it. But if we were ever going to find the kidnappers, I had to know certain things.  
“What do you want to know?” Ray asked in a monotone.  
“Tell me about your relationship with the Westmorelands. I know there is a secret that everyone is hiding and I think, in part, it is the answer to what is happening here.”  
Ray shrugged and looked away. When he turned back there was infinite pain and sadness in his eyes.  
“You’re right, of course. And it isn’t really a secret, it just isn’t talked about even inside the family.” He stood up and walked to the window gazing out at the rain that was lashing the trees in the late afternoon gloom. Without turning back, he began to quietly open the doors to the past.  
“It’s really not an uncommon story; in fact, it is all too common. A married rogue gets a simple village girl pregnant and deserts her and their son.”   
I winced at the bleakness in Ray’s recital and surprised that I could feel so much anger at John Westmoreland. Then I remembered my uncle’s words that Ray Doyle was not blood kin. Did he lie to throw me off the scent?  
Ray turned to look at me, perhaps to gauge the effect of his words, and he realized my interpretation. “No, it wasn’t John. It was Roger, Lady Helen’s husband. He was a scoundrel and a thoroughly evil man. He terrorized Helen but the old Duke, Helen’s father, was too proud to admit that he had pushed his daughter into a loveless marriage. And because Roger was wealthy, the old man overlooked a lot. You see, Roger was a successful American businessman which counted more in certain circles than the fact he was a drunkard with a vile temper.”   
At this point, to give Ray a little space, I retrieved another couple of lagers from the kitchen. “Now I understand why I’ve never heard anything about Lady Helen’s husband.”  
“John was in military service and didn’t know what was happening until he came home after Helen’s accident. Roger had got my mother pregnant. There had been rumors and then my mother had me. It was a difficult birth and at some point she confessed to the midwife the whole sordid story. The midwife was the same woman who had delivered Lady Helen years before so she went to Lady Margaret for advice.”  
Taking a long drink, Ray continued his narrative. “Lady Margaret knew that Helen had to be told because it would be all over the village in a little while. The midwife’s helper was the town gossip, you see. That evening after a frightful confrontation at dinner, Roger and Helen left to attend the Hunt Ball. Helen didn’t want to go, but the old Duke insisted that she had to attend and hold her head high. Lady Margaret objected and I don’t think she ever spoke to her husband again after that evening. You see Roger was in a filthy mood and spent most of the evening drinking. On the way back to Bancroft Hall there was a terrible accident and Roger was killed. Helen was paralyzed.  
I am not sure Ray was even aware of the tears rolling down his face, but he took the handkerchief I handed him.   
“Do you want to stop? We can finish this later.” Because I knew there was more to the story.  
“No, there isn’t much more to tell. John came home from the military and helped hush the scandal up for Helen’s sake. People in the village are genuinely fond of Helen and they more or less closed ranks. The Lord Lieutenant played a role, too. Anyway, provision was made for my mother, but the birth had been hard and she died within a year. My mother had no family and I was destined to go to an orphanage but Helen refused to allow it. I was Roger’s son and the closest she would ever come to having a child of her own. She fought like a tiger to keep me and she had the support of Lady Margaret. The old Duke simply had no say in the matter; in fact he died in the middle of the turmoil. John assumed the Dukedom and whatever he thought of the arrangement, he wasn’t about to take on his mother and sister. From then on, I was raised as a member of the family and in all honesty, Helen is the only mother I have ever known. I love them all because they really are my family.”  
“I am sorry I put you though this, Ray, but I had to know. Tell me, do you know anything about your father’s family in America?”  
“Not really. I think there was a younger brother who came over for the funeral. The father was dead and I heard somewhere that he had actually died in prison, but I don’t know the details. Why, does it help?”  
“I’m not sure, but I have, or I think I have a better idea of what is going on.”  
“What does all of this have to do with the kidnapping?”  
“From the very beginning I thought it extremely unusual that the kidnappers would have demanded such a large ransom for a jockey, even a favored one. There had to be more to the story so I asked a couple of people to do some research. One was Sam Markings and the other was my secretary. You have to understand, they are both very good at ferreting out buried secrets and what they found was absolutely nothing. There wasn’t even the glimmer of what you told me tonight which means it was virtually unknown outside of the family. That, in turn, told me it had to be an inside job. And, not just an inside job, but an inside job whose details could have been known only by someone who had been with the family for about thirty years.”  
“But no one has been on the estate that long. Reynolds, the butler, has been here the longest and he has only been here about twenty years.”  
“No, Ray, there is another. Richard Howard! His father worked for the old Duke which means Richard was a young man at the time of the accident and probably was working with his father. As trainer, Howard Senior would have been close to the old Duke and probably shared that one important secret. It is not at all unlikely that Richard would have known about it, too.”  
“No, Bodie, you can’t be right. I’ve known Richard all my life. He’s taught me everything I know about riding and racing. No! You are wrong.” In that moment, Ray was angrier than I had ever seen him, even more so than when I found him in the ramshackle cabin. For a second I thought he was going to hit me and I shifted my weight in case I needed to duck.  
Ray stood up and for long minutes just glared at me, his fists clenched. Then he kicked at the table and grabbed a couple of pillows and threw them across the room. Slowly he sank back onto the sofa and his voice cracked. “It can’t be, Bodie. It just can’t.”  
Deciding it was safe now, I sat next to Ray and picked up my drink. I didn’t try to touch him but after a few minutes he reached out and put a hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, love. It’s just….”  
“I know. I don’t want to believe it either, but you must admit it answers a very big question. We already decided the kidnappers knew your schedule, they knew about the hidden cabin, they came to the cabin on horseback, they were careful to make sure you weren’t injured because you needed to be able to ride Orkney. There are just too many coincidences.”   
“I guess so.” After a long pause, Ray asked, “Okay, where do we go from here?”  
“Well, first of all we have a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow first thing I will go see Chief Inspector Carlisle. In the meantime, I am going to use your phone to have Barbara start research on Howard’s finances, background, friends, etc. Oh, and I think I will have her see if she can find out anything about your father. What was Roger’s family name? I don’t think I ever heard it mentioned.”  
“It was Martin, but I think that was originally something like Martino or Martinesque. I believe he changed it by deed poll to sound more English.”  
“Well, what’s in a name, after all,” I grinned. Some days later we would find out what indeed was in a name.  
Our lovemaking that night was subdued. Ray was exhausted, mentally drained more so than physically depleted. The revelations about Richard Howard had gutted him and he needed my warmth. After a gentle frottage, I held him while he slipped into a troubled sleep. As I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t help but feel that I was overlooking something obvious. After a while I gave up and followed Ray into a restless sleep.

 

By ten o’clock Wednesday morning, I was meeting with Chief Inspector Carlisle and bringing him up-to-date about the events and conclusions reached the previous day. Without going too deeply into the background, I told him our conclusions about Richard Howard’s involvement and the steps I had already instigated to check his background. I did not tell him about Roger Martin and the American connection.  
Carlisle listened and then filled me in on the police investigation so far. They had looked at Howard’s alibi for the time of the kidnapping, just as they had looked at the alibis of all the people working on the estate. Everyone seemed clear, but now Carlisle promised that a far more in-depth investigation would be launched. In return, I promised that Barbara would share anything she learned with his staff.   
We concluded the meeting with the understanding that Ray would carry on with his schedule as planned. Ray had assured me that he could and would act normally. Any distancing toward Howard on his part would be attributed to his concentration on the race as that was his way. I explained to the Chief Inspector that I planned to stay close to Ray. One reason was to play bodyguard. There were at least three unknown kidnappers around and I wanted to make sure they didn’t have any further plans for Ray. The other reason was far more personal.   
The attraction Ray and I shared was becoming obvious to everyone and I wanted to be on hand to support him. Whether he admitted it or not, he was both furious and hurt that he could have been betrayed so badly by someone he considered part of the bedrock of his life. Also, if I was being honest, the sex was fantastic. Ray was a skilled and generous lover and, in the space of a few days, had become very important to me.   
One thing I didn’t know and needed to find out, was whether Ray’s family and friends knew he was homosexual. I would not hurt Ray for the world and if his family didn’t know, we would have to be very circumspect. My family had known since university days that I was bi-sexual with a preference for my own sex. It had never mattered to them even though my father and both brothers hold positions of importance in governments throughout the Empire. And the General always delighted in gently reminding me of the antics of a great grandfather who had been very close to the throne in Edwardian times. If everything he said was true, very close indeed.

 

The next few days, Ray spent most of his time at the stables preparing for the big race. There were daily gallops and meetings with Howard to go over race strategy. I marveled at how well Ray interacted with the trainer. He had his feelings under control and seemed perfectly normal. Any slight distancing would be put down to abstraction and concentration on the race.  
The entire retinue was planning to move to Aintree outside Liverpool on April 1 to allow Orkney Isles to settle before the April 5 race. The night before, Richard invited Ray and me over to his house for dinner. Since this was part of an established routine, Ray thought it best to go.  
Richard was in good spirits when we arrived and was busy taking packets out of the freezer.  
“Sorry about the leftovers, but there was a slight issue with one of the yearlings and I just got here. Fortunately, Susie came down this weekend with some friends and she stocked up the freezer for me.”  
Ray, nodded, “That’s okay, Richard. Let us help. I’ll set the table and Bodie can open the wine.”  
In a short space of time we sat down to a dinner of hearty stew with fresh bread and a fine burgundy. It was good and I went back for seconds on everything but I noticed Ray was hardly eating and wore a distracted look.   
“Richard, this is a really unusual recipe,” he said quietly. “There is something in it that is really different.”  
Richard grinned. “That’s Susie’s doing. She says everyone uses potatoes in stew but she likes to add turnips, too. She says it gives it a piquant flavor. ‘Piquant’ – that’s a uni girl for you,” and laughed.  
Ray had a wan smile at this joke and then changed to conversation to the plans for the next day. In a short time, however, Ray began to yawn and began to make noises about getting back to the cottage for an early night. Richard smiled indulgently and I am sure he thought Ray and I just wanted to head for bed.  
“Make sure to rest tonight, Ray,” he grinned. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day. We start loading the horses at seven o’clock in the morning.”  
“Don’t worry. We’ll be there,“ I answered for Ray and then we took our leave.

 

“Okay, Ray, want to tell me what happened in there?” I asked when we reached the car.  
“It was the stew. Remember, I told you the kidnappers would bring me a hot meal every day when they came to check on me? Well, it was the same stew Richard just served us. I remember the strange taste. It was Susie’s stew. Susie was one of the kidnappers,” Ray said with a combination of disgust and sadness. “Bodie, I’ve known her all her life. I used to babysit her. I taught her to ride her first pony. How could she!” The pain of realisation was giving way to anger and his fist impacted with the dashboard.  
“Remember Richard said she was down from school with a couple of friends? I bet they were the other two kidnappers. I bet Richard wasn’t involved at all. Oh, god, Bodie. This will gut him. He lives for Susie since his wife died. I’ll wring her neck for doing this to him.”  
“Calm down, Ray. Are you sure about the stew?” I asked, although I was pretty sure Ray was right. The taste of the meal had been distinctive. “I think we need to call Carlisle first thing in the morning and let him start checking on Susie and the friends that came down with her. Did you happen to meet them?”  
“No. Usually Susie comes around when she is down but this time we never seemed to connect. I didn’t think much of it, but now I guess she and her ‘friends’ were avoiding me. Makes sense they would come down to see what was happening with the investigation. After all, who would connect three university students with a kidnapping for ransom. Bitch!”  
“I think I will have Barbara start checking, too,” I said as I hunted up my mobile. “I want her to check the American connection while she is at it. There must have been a police report about the accident at the time and certainly there would have been a fairly complete obituary given that he was the son-in-law of a duke. There may not be anything to it, but I want to make sure. I still think part of the answer lies with Roger Martin.”

Chapter Seven

Tuesday, April 1 started very early for Ray and me. It was still dark when we made our way out of the cottage and headed for the stables. We found controlled chaos with Richard shouting orders to a couple of grooms who were busy trying to calm down a pair of skittish horses. Apparently this was normal because Ray shrugged when I asked if everything was going to be okay.   
“It’s always like this before we leave for a big race. I pretty much ignore it all. Come on, let’s go see how Orkney is doing.”  
The big bay was quietly chomping oats in his stall looking as unconcerned as his rider.   
“Hello, ol’ fella. You ready to take a ride?” Ray reached out and stroked the withers of his equine friend. Orkney momentarily forgot about the oats and turned his big head and pushed gently at Ray’s chest then went back to munching his breakfast. Ray spent a few more minutes with the racehorse, then turned to me and smiled a little forlornly. “This will be the last time we travel to a race meeting.”  
“That’s right. You said Westmoreland was going to send Orkney to stud after this race. You’re going to miss him, aren’t you, Ray?”  
“Oh, I’ll still see him here and I may even ride him from time to time, but it will never be in a race, galloping full-speed over the jumps, crossing the finish line ahead of the field. There isn’t anything to compare with the thrill of winning.” Ray was silent and thoughtful for a little while and I didn’t intrude on his memories. It was a time of transition for Ray now. Orkney was retiring, the stable was going to be turned on its ear when the revelations about Susie and the kidnapping came out, Richard Howard would be leaving--because how could he stay on? It was all going to change for Ray, but at least I would be there for him. We had made a start on building a life and I was determined that we would have that life together. But first came the Grand National.  
“Come on, Ray. Let’s see if they need any help getting this show on the road then we need to call Carlisle and bring him up-to-date.”

 

The drive north to Liverpool took the better part of the day and it was late afternoon when the transporters pulled into Aintree. There was the reverse confusion from the morning in getting stable assignments, horses unloaded and bedded down, and generally getting the team settled. The grooms and stable lads went off to find a pub. Ray declined an invitation to have dinner with Richard Howard and an assistant trainer, and we headed for Wilton Hall. Ray and I had been invited by the Duke to join his party at a friend’s estate and we had rooms waiting for us at a large Victorian manor house about five kilometers from the track.  
My concern about Ray’s and my relationship was answered when our hostess blithely assigned us to the Prince Albert suite and no one in the party batted an eye. Ray grinned at me and, as we followed the footman up the broad stairs, he told me everyone knew he was gay and he had let it be known that we were a couple.  
“You might have let me know. I have been worried about blowing your cover in case Westmoreland didn’t know. I know how much they mean to you.”  
“Relax, Bodie. I came out to John when he offered me the job as his jockey. I felt it was the honorable thing to do in case he didn’t want a queer wearing his colors. He just laughed and said he knew about me and would I get up on the soddin’ horse.”  
“He never said that!”  
“Well, not in those exact words. He was too polite, but that’s what he meant. I’m not sure how Lady Margaret and Lady Helen knew, but they each let me know that they loved me and it really didn’t make a difference.”   
The Prince Albert Suite was a lovely corner room with sitting room, bedroom and en suite bath. In any other circumstances, it would have been a pleasant visit, but Ray was nervous. The strain of maintaining a normal appearance with what he now knew was taking a toll. He prowled the room unable to settle. “When is this fucking thing going to end?” he growled.  
“You know when it will end. When Chief Inspector Carlisle calls and says he has the evidence against Susie and her friends and that they are making an arrest.”  
“But when?”  
“Give ‘em a break, Ray. We only told him less than 12 hours ago. He will have men working on it and it won’t be hard to find what they need, but it will take a little time. Carlisle strikes me as a very careful, methodical man. He will do it right; he wants these bastards just as badly as we do.”  
“Don’t you believe it,” Ray snarled, his anger and frustration barely contained.  
Moving to stand in front of him, I put my hands on his shoulders and forced him to look at me. “Ray, you are going to have to hold it together for a little longer unless you want to blow it. They are expecting us downstairs for drinks before dinner. Do you think you can manage or do you want to make an excuse and go out?”  
Ray looked at me and shuddered, then the control that made him a champion jump jockey reasserted itself. “No, you are right. Thanks, mate. Sorry for being a prat. I’m okay now. Let’s go down; like you said, they are expecting us and I owe it to John to be a gracious guest.”  
Looking closely at his now composed face, I leaned in and kissed him lightly on the forehead then released him. “Come on, then. Let’s go down and later we will come back up and have an early night.”  
“Not too early. I have plans,” he smirked.

 

Early Wednesday morning found me watching Ray and Orkney Isles doing early morning gallops on the practice track at Aintree. The anxiety of the previous evening was gone, buried under the intensity of our love-making the night before. Ray had been wild with need and I had been more than happy to accommodate him as he took me hard and fast. Later as we lay replete and panting in the aftermath of our lust, Ray turned his head and looked at me with a smile of vast contentment.   
“I think I love you, Bodie.”  
I looked at him for a long time without answering until he fidgeted and poked me. “Well, say something.”  
“You are really something, Ray. Of course, I love you. I think I have been a little bit in love with you since the moment I opened the door of that grotty cottage in the woods and you yelled at me for taking so long to rescue you.”  
“That’s all right then.”  
We had talked quietly into the night: about the future, about what we would do after the arrests, about many things both important and inconsequential. Finally, Ray slipped naturally into a contented sleep. My last thought before following him was that in spite of all of my reassurances to the contrary, the next few weeks were going to be hard on everyone – Ray, the Westmorelands, Richard Howard. I hoped we could get through the Grand National before it all fell apart.

 

The next three days passed in a blur of pre-race activity both on and off the track. Early morning gallops continued and Ray was, thankfully, his normal self around Richard. He spent a lot of time grooming Orkney and just staying in his stall. It was like they both needed the time together to prepare for the upcoming change in their lives. I would have thought it fanciful, but Orkney seemed different, quieter, more contained.   
Friday morning I asked Richard about it, and he said he thought Orkney knew that this would be his last race. I must have looked skeptical, but Richard just clapped me on the shoulder and laughed. “Horses are a lot more intelligent than people think, Bodie, and Orkney is one of the great ones. There is a bond between him and Ray and I think he is reading Ray’s sadness.  
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how quiet Ray has been this week. This is the last time he will take Orkney out onto a track to race and a part of him is hurting. He is glad that Orkney is going into retirement a champion, but at the same time it is like a part of himself will be missing. They have been a major part of each other’s lives for a long time. You know Ray was there when Orkney was foaled?”  
I nodded in understanding but was glad when Richard was called away by the assistant trainer. I didn’t want to get into any lengthy discussion with Richard because I was feeling a little anxious myself. A phone call from Charles Carlisle that morning confirmed that arrests were planned for Susie Howard, Michael Martino, and Robert McMillan. On top of it, a threat had been called in by the IRA to disrupt the race tomorrow. The General and the other stewards were meeting to discuss any possible action and nerves were becoming frayed. Things were moving rapidly to a conclusion.

 

“The stewards have decided to move the race to Monday,” the General announced at dinner Friday evening. “An announcement was made on the evening news. It is a damned nuisance but better to be safe and give the bomb squad a chance to sweep the stands and track. I doubt they will find anything. The IRA isn’t mad enough to seriously threaten a race meet like the Grand National.”  
In any event, the General was proved correct. After an exhaustive search of the grounds Aintree was pronounced bomb-free late Saturday afternoon. Ray and I had spent the extra time away from the group. When it became clear that the race wasn’t going to happen on Saturday, we borrowed a couple of hacks and asked for a picnic lunch and rode out on the heathlands. The Cambridge police were picking up the three conspirators today and Ray and I wanted to be away from the fallout for as long as possible.  
“I wish we had told John and warned him,” Ray said as we slowly led the horses along a stream. We had been riding for about an hour when we finally stopped to rest the horses and talk for the first time about what was happening in Cambridge. Now that it was finally over, Ray was both relieved and anxious. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore, but anxious about the effect on John Westmoreland and Richard Howard.   
“We should go back,” he said. “Carlisle was going to meet with John and Richard when the arrests were made and let them know the facts. Lord only knows how Richard will take it. I just can’t imagine how he will manage.”  
“What about the race? How will it affect Orkney?” I asked, concerned about the Grand National.  
“Oh, it won’t affect the race. Jim Longdon, the assistant trainer, will saddle Orkney and all of the training is done. It’s just sad that Richard probably won’t be in the winner’s circle after all of his hard work. I could really kill Susie for what she has done to him.”  
I wanted to mention what the girl and her friends had done to Ray – kidnapping him, drugging him, holding him in a freezing cottage – but to him that was unimportant in the face of the pain they were causing his friend.   
“Do you want to go back now?” I asked.  
“In a little while. Let’s have our lunch and then head back. Give John and Richard a chance to talk.”  
“What do you think Westmoreland will do? What will he say?”  
“I am not really sure. I suspect after his initial anger and sense of betrayal, he’ll feel a deep sadness for Richard. Because he is as much a victim as John and I are.”  
“What will happen to Richard and his job?”  
“I honestly don’t know. He certainly isn’t to blame for Susie, and I am not really sure Susie is entirely to blame,” Ray said reflectively.  
“What do you mean?” I asked incredulously.  
“I have been thinking about it since we figured it all out, and I haven’t been able to reconcile Susie as a cold-blooded kidnapper with the girl I have known since she was a child. She has always been a romantic and a follower. I could see her getting caught up in a grand scheme and not really seeing all of the ramifications. I am not excusing her by any means, but I don’t think she really meant any harm.”  
While I didn’t argue with Ray, I privately thought that he was being very charitable to the girl. Maybe Susie was a romantic, but I would lay odds that Michael Martino knew exactly what he was doing. A call to Barbara that morning revealed what I had suspected all along: the American connection. Michael Martino was the nephew of Roger Martin, Lady Helen’s dead husband and Ray’s unlamented biological father. Ray had been kidnapped by his cousin. A fact I had not shared yet with him.

 

We arrived back at Wilton Hall late Saturday afternoon to find a somber John Westmoreland in conference with Chief Inspector Carlisle. Richard Howard had left for Cambridge for an expected painful reunion with his daughter. After his initial disbelief, Howard had disintegrated when informed that Susie had tearfully confessed all when arrested in her rooms at Clare College. The Duke had arranged for a car and driver to take him to Cambridge and asked the senior groom to go with him with instructions to stay with him.  
It was time, I knew, to bring everyone into my confidence, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. There was going to be a tabloid scandal when the whole story and the trial hit the news.  
I began without preamble when Ray and I joined John Westmoreland and the Chief Inspector in the room the Duke had been using as a temporary office during his stay.   
“From the very beginning of this case, I was convinced that there had to be a connection with Ray’s past. The fact that the kidnappers were confident of asking for so large a ransom indicated that they knew about the special relationship between jockey and family. There was no other rational explanation that fit all the facts. That is why I asked my secretary to begin an investigation of Roger Martin’s background and his connection to America. What she discovered was that Martin was born Roger Martino and was the oldest son of Franco Martino, a member of a New York crime family – a mafioso who was imprisoned in the United States.  
“When his father went to prison, Robert Martino changed his name to Roger Martin and moved to England. He was extremely wealthy and managed to stay just on the right side of the law. He met and married Lady Helen Westmoreland and the rest you know. His younger brother, Carl, came over to England for the funeral and I surmise he heard something of the sordid details at the time. Anyway, his son Michael ended up at Cambridge on an exchange program and happened to be in the same college as Susie Howard. Imagine his surprise to discover her connection with the Westmoreland family when he was invited to spend a weekend at Bancroft Hall. Somehow young Martino knew or found out about Ray and being very much as disreputable as the rest of his family, he quickly saw the potential for gain. While kidnapping is not a particularly English crime, it is more prevalent in the United States. That’s another reason I felt there was an American connection.   
“I assume he talked Susie and another friend into going along with it, assuring them no one would be hurt and that the Duke of Westmoreland could afford the ransom. The rest, as you know, is history.”  
When I finished my narration, there was silence as everyone considered my story. John Westmoreland was the first to speak. “Thank you, Bodie,” he said rather shakily. “I must speak with my family, with Helen and my mother. If you’ll excuse me.” He rose slowly and walked from the room.   
Charles Carlisle looked like he had more questions, but after a glance at a white-faced Ray Doyle he, too, took his leave.  
“I’m sorry, Ray,” I said as I walked to Ray and sat down next to him.   
“Don’t be sorry, Bodie. It’s not your fault my fucking father’s fucking family was a bunch of fucking villains. He’s my cousin, isn’t he? That Martino guy that got Susie in all this mess.”  
“Yes.”  
“God, what a mess. It’s all going to come out isn’t it? My mother, the rape, the accident. Poor Helen. The tabloids will just love the scandal.”  
“I know. But it isn’t your fault.”  
“I know. I just wish….” His voice trailed off and he reached for my hand. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t see John and the family right now.”  
“Come on, then, let’s take a ride.”

 

Some three hours later Ray and I returned to Wilton Hall after a long, silent drive through the Merseyside countryside. While I went up to our rooms, Ray requested and had a meeting with John Westmoreland, Lady Helen, and Lady Margaret. I never knew what was said at the meeting, but when Ray came back to our suite about an hour later he was quiet and his face still bore signs of deep grief.  
I wasn’t sure if Ray wanted to make love that night so I took him to bed and just held him tightly through the long hours. I don’t think either one of us really got much sleep, but at some point I dropped off because I was awakened by the phone ringing. Glancing at the nearby clock I noticed it was ten o’clock. Ray raised his head from my shoulder, groaned and laid down again. Groggily I picked up the phone and heard the voice of John Westmoreland inquiring if we were among the living and did we want breakfast.  
He sounded amazingly normal for a man facing a major scandal and right then my regard for the man rose to new heights.  
“We haven’t really thought about breakfast,” I answered in the same vein as the Duke, “but now that you mention it, we will shower and come down.” I could be as cool and normal as the Duke any day.  
“Good. Oh, by the way, there are some reporters around covering the race events. Not sure if they have the other story or not, but you might let Ray know and let him decide how he wants to handle it if asked.”  
“How do you want to handle it, sir?”  
“Why with the truth, of course. As far as what happened in the past, well, it was a long time ago and only coincidentally connected with the kidnapping. Let people make of it what they will.”  
“And what of Lady Helen? How does she feel?”  
“My sister is of the opinion it really is no one’s business and if they are so rude as to mention it, well, they will receive a rather cold stare.”  
“Very well, sir. Ray and I will be down shortly.” As I hung up the phone, I thought about the strength and resolve of the British aristocracy and knew that in all of the turmoil of the days ahead, the Westmoreland family would be just fine. As would Ray Doyle.

Chapter Eight

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2af0oye)

As reported in “Horse Racing”: _On Monday, April 7, Orkney Isles, with Raymond Doyle aboard, won the 150th running of the Grand National steeplechase by 25 lengths. He was greeted in the winner’s circle by his owner the Duke of Westmoreland, his wife, the Duchess of Westmoreland, his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Westmoreland, his sister, Lady Helen, and Richard Howard, the trainer of Orkney Isles. Also in the party was Lieutenant General Sir Percy Marlow and Captain William Bodie._

“Hurry up, Bodie, we are going to be late,” Ray entreated me from the door where he waited impatiently.  
“Just a minute. I have to get my jacket,” I called from the bedroom in Ray’s cottage.  
I hurried out of the cottage to a bright May morning about a month after the Grand National. It was Ray’s and my first day back after a well-deserved holiday in Canada and he was anxious to get to the paddock to see the spring foals.  
We had had dinner with Richard Howard at the Green Man the night before and over game pie Richard had told Ray about the new foals and how Orkney had already settled into retirement with a great success. “Yes, he’s taken to stud service with the same stamina as his racing,” Richard reported. Then added, “just like his jockey.”  
I am not sure which of us blushed more, Ray or I, but Richard just laughed uproariously and shared more news. It seemed Jim Longdon had given notice as assistant trainer. He was moving up to be head trainer for a small stable in York.   
“So you’ll be looking for a new assistant?” I asked more out of politeness than interest  
“Hmmm,” was all he said.  
It had been a fine evening, even when Richard and Ray talked about Susie and all of the legal problems.  
“Well, the Crown Prosecution Service is going to ask for minimal custodial service for her because of her cooperation. It was pretty apparent that she was more or less led into it by Martino and wasn’t really part of the planning. That the Duke put in a request for leniency for her, too, went a long way toward helping.”  
“Is everything all right with you, now,” asked Ray. He was concerned about his friend and his relationship with the Duke.  
“John has been very good to me, Ray. He never blamed me for Susie and refused to accept my resignation. He also let it be known that I was not to blame for anything that happened and would be very displeased with anyone that thought otherwise. He’s a good man.  
Ray nodded and smiled, but Richard wasn’t finished.  
“You’re a good man, too, Ray. I’ve never had a chance to tell you how sorry I am for what Susie and those other two did to you. I….”  
Ray interrupted, partly out of embarrassment. “You don’t owe me any apology or an explanation, Richard. Susie made a mistake, but you forget I’ve known her all her life and I know she isn’t bad, just very young and impressionable. She’s going to be okay. We all are. But right now, I think Bodie and I need to call it an evening. It was a long flight back from Canada and I want to see those foals tomorrow before the luncheon with John and Helen.”  
As the party broke up, I turned to Ray. “Are you really tired?”  
“No, but I do have plans for us and Richard can talk all night if let be,” he grinned and squeezed my hand.

 

It was good to be home, and Ray’s cottage did seem like a home that the house in Wimbledon never had. We were going to have to talk about the future because as nice as it was, the cottage was definitely too small for the two of us. But that was a discussion for another day. Right now we both had other things on our mind, or at least one thing.  
Ray was nicely simmering by the time we made it to the bedroom. He had forgone his normally tight jeans in favor of looser moleskin trousers which was fortunate, otherwise he could have been in trouble with his now prominent erection. I wasn’t far behind, either. We were long past the need for reticence and he lost no time skinning out of his trousers and briefs. The jumper followed and landed in the general vicinity of the dresser. I had stopped to admire him and wasn’t far along with my stripping when he impatiently grabbed my belt and zip and hurried things along.  
We tumbled into bed.   
I had learned a great deal about Ray’s body over the past few months. For instance, I know that he loves to have his nipples pinched gently. They are exceeding sensitive nubs that I love to bite. Likewise, the scrotum is particularly sensitive to tonguing and he goes into orbit when I suck his testicles. Likewise, a lick to his crack is assured to render him boneless. I used all of my knowledge of his body to rouse him to fevered heights. But what I wanted was not to use, but to be used. When I reached for the KY and the condoms it was not to use on my aching penis, but to roll on his engorged cock. He whimpered with need as I gently finished my ministration and tongued his latex-covered slit, then I carefully turned and presented to him.  
With shaking hands, he took the KY and spread it on his fingers and then my crack. Gently he inserted first one, then two, then three fingers into my anus making sure I was well-lubricated. Slipping a hand around and under me, he stroked first my penis then played with my testicles, rolling them back and forth between his fingers. All the while balancing himself on his left hand. When neither of us could stand anymore, I collapsed onto the bed and he followed me down. Hot with need and pushed to the limit of his endurance, he entered me with a single long push and when he was buried to the hilt, began to fuck me with long, hard strokes.   
Ray is amazingly silent when he fucks, unlike me who is exceedingly vocal. I was more than vocal last evening. I was downright noisy, urging him on and begging for it to be harder and faster. I sometimes think Ray has learned his stamina from Orkney Isles and last night was no exception. I had come shouting my release long before Ray finished and was actually getting interested again, when I felt his spasms and he gave a long sigh of repletion. Oh, god, I love this man.  
“Lover,” I said after a time, “can you move?”  
“No. I think I died.”  
“Well, I am laying in a wet spot.”  
“That’s all right. It’s your wet spot.”  
“Ray, move. Now.”  
“Okay, okay. Give me a minute,” he groaned as he finally raised up and slid to my side.  
“Shower?” I asked   
“Later,” he said. “Let me bask in the light of my success.”  
“Bastard,” I grimaced.  
“Yes?” he asked.  
“Oh, all right. Rest on your laurels. I’ll give you five minutes.”  
“I’ll five minutes you,” he grinned as he attacked my ribs with frantic fingers. A few laughing minutes later we broke apart and lay panting on the demolished bed clothes. “I do love you, Bodie, but there is something I would like to talk to you about.”  
Suddenly the evening had turned serious and I sat up.  
“Let’s go in the sitting room. I’d like a drink,” said Ray.  
I grabbed a dressing gown and tossed one to him and followed him into the small front room. I poured us each a whisky while Ray perched on a bar stool and looked at his drink for a while.  
“You know racing is a dangerous business, especially steeplechasing. Hell, two horses were killed in the Grand National this year and one of the jockeys was seriously injured.”  
I nodded because it was one of the things I disliked about Ray’s work.  
“I will be twenty-nine in a couple of months. That’s really not very old for racing, but I have been doing it for almost a decade now and I am starting to feel it. John and I talked a while ago about what I would do when I gave up the saddle and he told me he thought I would make a fine trainer because of my empathy with the horses I rode, especially Orkney. Richard agreed with him and said he would take me as an assistant trainer. I am sure that is why he told me about Jim leaving.  
“Everything is changing for me now. Orkney is retired and some of my drive is gone. And there is you. You’ve never said anything, but I know you worry about my riding. Hell, I’ve started to worry about my riding. It’s time for me to quit.”  
For a long while I sat thinking about Ray, his racing, Orkney, our life, and our future. Perhaps because I was so quiet it disconcerted Ray.  
“Well, say something. What do you think?”  
“I think,” I grinned, “that you’re not a ‘chaser’ anymore. And we need to start looking for a new home. One fit for an assistant horse trainer and his lover.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes:
> 
> This story began 20 years ago as a salute to the incomparable Dick Francis. (His novel “The Danger” was the inspiration for the story.) As one of the longer works-in-progress in the fandom, it is partly through the urging of Krisser and PFL that it is finally completed.
> 
> Special thanks to my terrifically talented editor, Ellis Ward. She was in on the beginning of the story and wanted to see how it turned out. Thanks, too, to Gale Good – beta reader extraordinaire. 
> 
> Thanks to my artist, Krisser for making if feel like Dick Francis cover.
> 
> Historical Note: The results of the two races, the 1997 Cheltenham Gold Cup and the Grand National, were accurate with only the names of the winning horses changed. There was an IRA bomb threat at the Grand National and two horses did die during the running, totally unconnected to any IRA activity. Steeplechase racing is a dangerous sport so richly and lovingly captured with such style by Dick Francis.
> 
> May, 2017


End file.
